


Rules of Engagement

by imagined_haven



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe: Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Not Beta-Read: We Die Like Men, Slow Burn, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 90,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26114830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagined_haven/pseuds/imagined_haven
Summary: After an incident outside the palace walls forces the hand of Regent Weylan Darrow, Princess Aelin Galathynius of Terrasen must fulfill two conditions before she can inherit the crown that is rightly hers.First, she must gain control of her magic with the help of a trainer sent specially from the Fae of Doranelle.Second, she must select and marry a suitable husband.Aelin genuinely isn’t certain which of these impossible tasks will prove more difficult, but she will stop at nothing to finally inherit her birthright, one denied her for so long already. She won’t let a grouchy old Regent, a distant Queen, or even her own secrets stand in her way now. Provided, of course, she doesn’t provoke her newest tutor into killing her first.
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Dorian Havilliard, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn
Comments: 246
Kudos: 247





	1. Prologue

Deep within the palace of Doranelle, in a small chamber guarded by two wolves, a blood-sworn Prince met with his Queen.

“Have you heard the latest news from Terrasen?” asked the Queen lightly, one finger tapping against a scroll of parchment.

“Nothing since the Crown Princess put on her little display,” replied the Prince, choosing his words carefully. He had heard rumors, of course, of what might befall the girl, but his Queen would have little interest in unproven claims. So he told himself, anyway, and the tugging sensation at the base of his skull seemed to agree.

The Queen smiled. “The Regent has finally admitted that my dear niece needs training, and a connection to her own heritage. He cannot, however, risk putting her on a boat and sending her here with such untrained abilities. No, instead he requests that I send a representative.”

“He does not ask for you directly?” the Prince questioned.

“Of course not,” the Queen responded with a laugh. “I have not left Doranelle in almost five centuries. Besides, if the rumors of her power are true, she will require weeks, if not months of training. I simply cannot leave my obligations for that long. Any good leader would be aware of this. She will simply have to visit her dear aunt later, once her training is complete.”

The Prince carefully suppressed a shudder at the cold smile on his Queen’s face. “Did you have someone in mind to send in your place, then?” he inquired. “Or was it your intention to ask me for recommendations?”

The Queen’s smile broadened, revealing delicate fangs as pointed as her ears. “Surely you must have guessed why I called you here tonight. Your gifts oppose hers, and you have been one of my most loyal subjects.”

“You wish _me_ to go to Terrasen,” he realized, doing his best to keep his surprise from his voice and face.

“I do,” replied the Queen. “You will depart in the morning. You have my leave to remain in Terrasen until you deem the girl’s training complete. Ensure that she has control over her gift, and determine the limits of her abilities.”

That made more sense, the Prince thought as he knelt before her. For education alone there were many other suitable representatives, but with the information she was also seeking it was safer to send one who had taken the blood oath and therefore would not be able to provide misleading information in return for money or favors.

“There is one more thing,” the Queen added. “She is due to choose a husband soon. Report to me on her choice, so that I may assess the risks of the combined bloodlines. We may not have absolute control over her choice, but we can certainly make our preferences clear, and perhaps avert a disaster in the making.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he quietly replied as his mind raced. “As you command, it shall be done.”

“Very well,” she smiled. “You are dismissed.”

As the Prince returned to his chambers to pack a small bag for the journey ahead, he marveled at the relative freedom within her commands. He had to report back, of course, but she had specified neither a frequency of reports nor an end time for his mission. She had even explicitly given him free reign to decide when the task was done. And in a country as distant as Terrasen…

The Prince allowed himself a small smile as he worked. It was likely the closest to freedom he would ever experience.


	2. Chapter One

Aelin Galathynius snarled at the door she had just slammed behind herself, exposing delicate fangs that had been gracing her features for the past several weeks now. At this point she could understand the need for at least enough training for her powers to _not_ manifest in the way they had, but to make it a condition for her to inherit the throne, when the laws Darrow had referenced had been unenforced for generations?

“You can’t say this was entirely unexpected,” came a delicate feminine voice from behind her, and Aelin whirled around before relaxing as she saw who had spoken. “I mean, truly,” her friend Lysandra continued with a careless twirl of the sleek brown curls she had chosen to wear that day, “burning down the entire western gate in the image of a bird _does_ present a bit of a problem in our relations with the town and with our neighbors, does it not?”

Aelin smirked, though she had a feeling Lysandra would see through the feigned expression. “Aelin of the Wildfire summoning a phoenix to rescue her from the city guards certainly does send a message that I am not to be trifled with, doesn’t it?” Never mind that she had not deliberately chosen the form of the flames, nor in fact consciously summoned them at all.

“See, I’ve studied the descriptions in the old books, and I don’t think it was a phoenix,” her friend said lightly. “I couldn’t say for certain what type of bird appeared in the flames, but phoenixes always had a longer neck in the legends. Almost like a swan,” she added.

Aelin couldn’t help a laugh as a swan’s form suddenly replaced that of her friend, and she sat beside it on her bed. “Shifting into a swan hardly proves your point about phoenixes, Lysandra,” she said dryly.

Before she could say anything else about it, Lysandra had shifted back into the form she had been wearing earlier. “This entire conversation is a distraction, and you know it,” the shifter accused. “I think you’re truly angry that he chose to hide his decision from you until the day before your new trainer is due to arrive from Doranelle, so that you wouldn’t have time to find a way out of it.”

Aelin sighed and ran her fingers through her own golden waves, allowing the nervous gesture only because she was speaking to her most trusted friend. “I don’t like it,” she admitted. “We’ve avoided attracting the Fae Queen’s attention for so long now. How do I know this trainer isn’t under orders to just take me back?”

“You say that as though you would have no means of finding an escape. That doesn’t sound like the Aelin I know. Besides,” Lysandra continued, “abducting the Crown Princess seems like an order few monarchs would risk. Not to mention the risk of transporting you on any ship, without more control over your abilities.”

“That assumes the Fae have no protections against magic,” Aelin snapped.

“Hardly,” drawled Lysandra. “The western gate was well-defended, after all, and look where that got it.”

Aelin had to admit to herself, if not out loud, that her friend had a point. The gate had been warded, and had stood against multiple attacks, and she had burned through it without a thought. Honestly, that was the realization that had shaken her the most. Rather than concede the point out loud, though, she continued on. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on this blood-sworn whoever-he-is,” she declared. “I won’t leave my home against my will again, regardless of any relationship the Queen may declare between us.”

Lysandra grinned. “What if he’s coming to win you over and satisfy the _other_ rule the Regent invoked?”

Aelin growled at the thought of it. “Then he’ll fail. The marriage clause is the one I have longer to find a way around, and I will not tie myself to someone blood-sworn to another simply to appease an old man clinging to what control he has left.”

“You might as well _look_ at the options,” her friend pointed out. “Who knows, there may be someone on his list that isn’t so bad. You had to know a political marriage was in your future at some point.”

She had known it for years, though she had hoped she would be able to find someone on her own at least. If she wasn’t to marry for love, the least the world could do for her was allow her to choose someone she actually liked while adhering to the most important of the eligibility requirements.

After all, she had seen where love matches led before, and she had no desire to experience anything like her parting from—

No. That wound was still too fresh, though nearly an entire year had passed. She doubted she would ever truly be able to think his name without a jolt of pain. Best not to start down that path.

Aelin took a breath, hoping it looked more like taking a moment to think than the steadying movement it was. “We’ll look over the options together, when the others have returned. I have until my birthday to announce who I choose to court, and I intend to take as much time as I can ensuring that I’m not making the worst decision. The Regent can wait a week.”

Lysandra nodded and stood, gracefully smoothing her skirts. “Shall I see what can be found about the eligible candidates?”

“Please,” she replied. “I’m certain Darrow has listed their qualifications, but I know you can find out more about what they’re actually like than he would bother telling us. Any rumors you can find could prove useful.”

The shifter grinned, and Aelin noticed that Lysandra had elected to borrow the sharper canines of her current form. “Then I’ll get to work,” she said as she let herself out of Aelin’s rooms.

Aelin waited until she heard her friend’s footsteps fade completely before allowing herself to fall face-first onto her mattress. What had she gotten herself into?

For most of her nearly twenty years of life, she had known of the power that burned inside of her. It would’ve been hard for _anyone_ to ignore that her fingertips had once had the tendency to spark when she was irritated. But she’d thought she’d had the power well enough in hand to go on continuing to ignore it for as long as it took. Her parents had impressed on her from an early age the importance of keeping a hold of her emotions, lest she lose control of both her temper and the fire that burned inside of her. She hadn’t had an incident in almost a year now, and given what had happened then she had allowed that the outburst was understandable.

Aelin sighed. One of the last conversations she’d had with her mother, before she and Aelin’s father had both passed on into the Afterworld, was the true reason she feared this Fae trainer.

_“I need you to understand this,” Evalin Galathynius had whispered from the bed where she would breathe her last. “You know by now that I have been avoiding sending you to Doranelle, or taking you there to visit, since you were born. You must know why.”_

_Aelin had frowned, but before she could say anything her mother continued on. “The Queen there, our aunt, will claim to want to meet you. Likely she will claim affection as a member of your extended family. It is all lies, Aelin. She knows what lies inside you, my dear, and she will seek to either smother or control it. I want you to live a life free of all of that, like the life your father gave me. So I want you to promise me that you will not set foot in Doranelle. Can you promise me that, Aelin?”_

Aelin shook her head, as if to attempt to dislodge the memory. She had promised, of course, and her mother had passed on not long after. Darrow had made noise about sending her off to study her magic, she recalled, though nothing had ever come of it. Perhaps she had had a similar conversation with him. At any rate, she had successfully hidden the signs of most of her magic ever since, with only a few slips. It likely hadn’t seemed truly necessary to him until now.

This trainer that the Queen had personally selected had sworn a blood oath to her, and the message he had carried and then sent on before him admitted as such. If he had been ordered to take her back with him, he would have no option but to either do so or perish in the attempt. Unless the Queen remanded the order, of course, but that seemed unlikely.

She had fought before, of course, and if this were any other male she would be less concerned. However, she had never come across a Fae warrior before—much less one of sufficient power for the Queen to send in her place. She knew he would be faster than any of her previous foes, should he become one himself, and more powerful. If he were to be her trainer in magic, he would likely be strong in either fire magic or a power that would nullify what she did.

She would have to slip away, then, if it came to it, and pray that she could stay out of his grasp until the Queen decided the search was no longer worth the effort. Luckily, she was used to escaping unnoticed.

* * *

The next morning Aelin awakened with a sigh of relief at her deadened senses. She must have finally shifted back into her human appearance through the course of the night, what little Fae blood she came by through her mother’s line finally relinquishing its grasp. Reaching up and feeling the rounded tips of her ears, she smiled. While she personally didn’t mind the heightened senses, the pointed ears and fangs stood out. Perhaps she would feel better about the shift if she had any control over when it occurred, but as it happened without her wishes she could only feel resentful.

She knew she would be expected to make a formal appearance at the reception for their guest from Doranelle in the afternoon, and dress appropriately for the occasion. However, that was hours away and she refused to spend all day in formal dress for him when he wasn’t even going to be here to appreciate it. Instead she donned a pair of dark brown trousers, pairing them with a linen undershirt and a tunic the green of her family crest. Hardly appropriate for court, but she could get away with it for a morning stroll in the gardens.

Quickly tying her hair into a braid and then into a knot at the nape of her neck, she looked around her rooms for wherever she had tossed her boots the previous night. She found them neatly tucked away in the corner, which must have been Lysandra’s doing, and quickly tugged them on, supple brown leather reaching just below her knees.

A quick stroll down the stairs and a single hallway led her to a small courtyard, populated with flowering bushes and a few small trees. With a smile, she settled below one of these trees and gazed up at the sky.

After a few minutes of gazing up at the clouds she noticed a bird circling in the skies above the courtyard. She stood to try to get a better look, and soon a hawk was spiraling down to rest in another of the trees nearby. While that was certainly out of the ordinary, it was certainly possible that this was either Lysandra or a messenger who had missed its destination. Aelin decided to test her theory, and carefully lifted her arm, hand curled into a fist.

Her suspicions that this was no wild bird were confirmed when the hawk flew to her instead, head tilting as it inspected her. This close, she was reasonably certain this was a white-tailed hawk. Not typically used in the palace, but it wasn’t impossible that this was someone’s lost pet. The possibility still remained that it was her friend, but the hawk pecked at her hand when she went to inspect it for the telltale mark Lysandra could never completely rid herself of. “Hey now,” she said quietly. “Has no one told you yet it’s rude to peck people like that?”

In response the hawk fixed its gaze on her, and she couldn’t help a slight shiver. There was an intelligence there that was certainly not to be found in a wild bird. Without breaking its stare, the hawk deliberately pecked her again, this time between the eyes. “Och!” she cried, startled. “Needy little thing, aren’t you? Where did you come from, anyway?”

It clicked its beak and held out a leg, to which she noticed a tiny scroll was affixed. A messenger, then. She slowly reached up with her other hand and detached the scroll. Once she had done so, the hawk took off, circling once around the courtyard before lighting on her shoulder. Once there, it dug its talons in slightly harder than strictly necessary before taking off again and disappearing into the sky.

How rude, she thought. It must have been Lysandra after all, taking a rare opportunity to tease her when she would be able to get away with it. Perhaps she had information, either about Darrow’s list or about this new guest.

Aelin carefully unrolled the scroll and read the short message it contained.

_I don’t care if you decide to miss out on the formalities. In fact, it would give me an excuse to avoid them as well. Your training begins at dawn, and I expect you to not be late._

The note was signed in characters Aelin recognized from the Old Language, though it had been years since she had read anything in it. She would have to take it back to her rooms if she wanted to translate it, though given the content of the note she could only assume it was from their newest guest. Lysandra must have met him, and granted her the minor reprieve of not having a court event to meet him herself.

It was just as well, she thought. She could do without meeting him in a formal setting anyway.

She returned to her rooms, only to find a tall, broad-shouldered male waiting for her there. Aelin grinned at the familiar waves of golden hair that came to his shoulders, and when he turned his gaze onto her she was met with eyes that were a mirror of her own, the blue eyes with an outer ring of gold they had both inherited through her mother’s line. “You look fit to burst, cousin,” she said. “Did you have a particularly good sparring match this morning?”

Aedion Ashryver stood from where he had been lounging on her chaise. “Of course not,” he replied. “You weren’t there to hand all of us our asses with your knife skills.”

Aelin laughed. “I was busy.”

“That’s a lie,” her cousin said with a snort. “You’re avoiding everyone. You know, you could’ve warned me about who was coming.”

“You know as much as I do, or so I thought,” she replied. “Some male from Queen Maeve’s court, probably some pretentious Fae male with his head so far up his—”

“I’m going to stop you now before you say something you regret,” he cut in. “She sent _Rowan Whitethorn_ to come train you.”

Aelin knew he would notice the lack of recognition on her face. “I fail to see why that would make me regret anything I could say.”

“He’s one of her most powerful and most trusted commanders,” Aedion replied, awe clear in his expression. “He and the other five of her blood-sworn. I’ve been hearing stories about them since we were children.”

“So I’m to train with one of your heroes, then,” she sighed. “I fail to see how that would make him _not_ pretentious.”

“I heard he once killed a man using a _table_ ,” Aedion said in response.

“Exaggerated, surely,” Aelin yawned.

Her cousin scowled. “Are you sure you’d like to find out?”

“What, did he squash him like a grape?”

The look on Aedion’s face told her that he hadn’t heard the details of the story. She allowed him to sputter for a few moments before taking pity on him. “We’re due to start training at dawn tomorrow, apparently,” she said as she showed him the scroll.

Aedion read it over quickly. “It’s almost like he knows you. So tell me, what was your devious scheme to get out of _this_ event, before his messenger said he would prefer to rest rather than have a drawn-out court dinner so soon after his long journey?”

Aelin laughed. “Feminine problems usually work. You know Darrow would never question it.”

“That’s almost boring, for you,” her cousin grinned. “Probably for the best that he called it off instead, then. I would hate to be disappointed in you.”

“Please,” Aelin demurred. “As if you could ever be disappointed in me.”

And as the two cousins continued to discuss their most recent guest, Aelin could have sworn she heard a fluttering of wings outside the window. When she looked, though, there was nothing to be seen.

* * *

As night fell in Orynth, Celaena Sardothien tugged on the hood of her cloak to ensure her braided hair was hidden. The motion also protected her face from the rain that had descended on the city earlier that evening, not that she minded the elements. She had more important worries at hand.

She would have to be careful, she thought as she stalked through empty streets, blending into the shadows thanks to her dark clothing. The incident at the gates, where the princess had lost control several weeks ago, had the guard on high alert. Luckily, she was used to escaping notice when she wanted to. Her prey would never see her coming.

It had taken her weeks to track him down, this man, and longer still for him to return to the city after the incident. Her sources indicated that he would be returning soon, though, and she intended to greet him.

Celaena had no problem with spies ordinarily. They were a part of running a country, she knew, and in any case it was easy enough for an assassin to evade them most of the time. If this man hadn’t betrayed Sam, she would have no quarrel with him. But he had.

Two corners away from the warehouse he used as a base of operations, Celaena pressed herself against a wall and took several deep breaths. _My name is Celaena Sardothien_ , she thought to herself, _and I will not be afraid_.

She couldn’t deny, however, that this target meant more than any she had ever tracked down before. This man could tell her who precisely he had reported to, all those months ago. She intended to find out everything he knew before ending his miserable life.

It was the least she could do for the way he had contributed to her lover’s death.

She allowed herself a moment to recall the way it had felt that night, when she had found him in the apartment they had come to share. The way a fire had started in her heart, only to be suppressed by ice creeping through her veins as she took in each detail. The broken window, the open book, the signs of his final struggle.

The way his blood was pooled on the floor beneath the bed.

 _Not yet_ , she had told herself. That still remained true to this day. She needed to keep her calm. Ridding the world of the grunts who had done the job was all well and good, and she had done that with each one she had tracked down. But she needed to track down the man who had given the order before she could let it all go.

Before Celaena could fade away into the countryside, never to be heard from again.

One more deep calming breath, one more reminder to herself, and she slipped down the alley. The warehouse was dark, as it had been for almost a month now, but perhaps one of the spy’s underlings had slipped something into the rooms for when he returned. She had found several such pieces of information already. A look couldn’t hurt.

The front door was locked, as it had been every time she had wandered this way. The window over the man’s desk had a crack in it, though, and just as before she slipped a slender hand in and undid the latch before hauling herself into the room.

It was dark, but she couldn’t risk a candle as she searched. It was more critical than ever that she not be discovered, now that she was so close to answers. She had her suspicions, of course, but she needed proof before she could move against the man she suspected.

It wasn’t every day, after all, that an assassin took down her master.

But she was getting ahead of herself. Before she could do that she had to find the connection between the Assassin King and this spy.

The steady rain escalated into a torrential downpour as Celaena crept through the man’s office, but she paid it no mind. The rain would only help mask her movements, keeping all but the most loyal guards ducked away under eaves and alcoves.

As she rummaged through his desk, she bit back a quiet snarl. Nothing. This had been a waste of a trip, and she had been a fool for risking it. She caught herself before slamming the drawer shut, though, and quietly closed it instead. No point letting herself get caught now.

A quick glance around the room told her nothing had been left out of place to indicate that she had been here. The gloves she wore would keep all but the most skilled trackers from finding anything of her here. It was time to leave.

Reaching to where a dagger was strapped to her thigh, Celaena carefully pulled it free. This was going to be the most risky part of the evening, the leaving. She wouldn’t be able to tell for certain that she was in the clear until she had already hauled herself out of the window, due to the location.

Sure enough, when she had closed the window behind her she turned to see a cloaked figure standing at the end of the alley. Without any hesitation she flung her dagger in its direction, only to freeze when the figure snatched her dagger out of the air.

No man could have done that. She had gotten too good at throwing. That could only mean that the figure before her was not a man at all, but Fae.

_Shit._

Celaena had mostly avoided attracting the attention of the Fae, in part because there were precious few in residence in the city and in part a deliberate choice. Fae were stronger and faster than men, with better senses. It was likely this one already had her scent, and she was already running out of time to act before she was caught.

The river and the sewers were both too far away. This Fae, a male judging from the height and a warrior judging from the breadth of his shoulders, would catch her well before she could lose him in other scents. She would have to cause a scene instead, lure him away from the alley and keep him occupied until she could slip away.

Slipping the hood of her cloak back just enough that he could see her smile, Celaena strode over to him, every inch the old friend reuniting. “I wasn’t expecting you until next week!” she said, loudly and brightly enough that the guard two streets away would’ve heard conversation. She grabbed the male by the elbow and hoped that she had surprised him enough that he would move with her.

Either she had or he was humoring her, for soon they were walking down the streets together, her hand still in the crook of his elbow in a parody of a gentleman walking his lady home. When she chanced a glance up at him most of his features were still shrouded by the hood of his cloak, but she could make out the glimmer in pine-green eyes as well as the scowl that graced his face. It looked as though he had worn the expression naturally for quite some time, and she recalled it was quite possible that he was centuries older than her. Not someone who would play along for any great length of time, then. She would have to give him the slip quickly.

She gave a thought to attempting to snatch her dagger back from where he had hidden it in the folds of his cloak as they walked, but quickly dismissed the idea. Speed was going to be of the essence, and the less notice she gave him the better chance she had of escaping.

They came upon a bridge soon enough, and Celaena took it for the opportunity that it was. Making as though she had dropped a ring, she flung herself over the ledge of the bridge, fingertips clinging to the stone until her feet made contact with the narrow passage below. She took a deep breath and slipped into the icy waters, making sure to stay submerged until the next bridge. From there, it was easy enough to slip into the sewers that sprawled beneath Orynth.

Celaena started to run and didn’t stop once she got into the system of tunnels. The Fae chasing her may have the advantage of speed and strength, but she knew this city like the back of her hand. She would not be afraid, and she would not be caught. Not tonight.

Sure enough, by the time she slipped into her own room she had lost her pursuer, and she allowed herself a soft sigh of relief. She was safe, at least for another night.

She would have to be much more careful in her search, though. She could only pray that the Fae she had met was not someone sent after her, and would lose interest soon enough.

Quickly shedding her black garb and donning a simple nightdress in its place, Celaena slipped into her bed, where she would pretend to have been the entire night. Despite the excitement of the night, or perhaps because of it, sleep found her easily.

For the first time since Sam had died, the eyes that followed her in her dreams were not dark. No, they were a bright, piercing green.


	3. Chapter Two

Aelin rose shortly before dawn, quickly grabbing the trousers and shirt she usually wore to train with Aedion and his men. As inclined as she was to distrust this new trainer— _Rowan Whitethorn_ , according to her cousin—she might as well begin their time together on something approximating neutral ground. Being late on the first day would only provoke him unnecessarily.

With that in mind she darted down the stairs, still tugging on one of her boots as she went. With a yelp she stumbled, but a quick grab at a handrail turned what would have been a tumble into a smooth slide instead.

Aedion caught her at the bottom of the stairs. “Your hair’s a wreck,” he muttered as they jogged off toward the training ground.

“As though yours is any better,” she growled.

“Sleep late?” Aedion knew better by this point than to let her rile him up, so it had become too difficult to do with such a simple jab. She wasn’t really trying to anger him, though, so instead she focused on doing her best to keep up with him and braid her hair at the same time. No time to secure it any further, not if she wanted to be early.

“Hardly,” she retorted. “You’re up early, though. Observing the fun?”

Aedion hummed in reply. “An entire patrol of the Bane is stationed nearby, just in case. He is a foreign soldier, after all.”

“I’d expect nothing less from your security,” she smiled as she finally tied off her braid.

They turned the corner by the stables, and Aelin turned to face Aedion as he slowed to a stop. “What, not coming?”

“We’ll be keeping an eye on him, of course, but he has specifically said that the guards are to keep a wide berth,” Aedion replied as he ran wide fingers through his own hair to pull it back in a simple leather tie. “You’ll be safe.”

_And everyone else will be safe from me_ , she realized. Though he didn’t say as much, the look in his eyes confirmed that this was a move supported by the rest of the guard for their safety as well as her own. “Well,” she started, reaching for her usual confidence and hoping it was sufficiently convincing. “You’ll just have to meet your hero some other day, won’t you?”

Aedion smirked. “Who’s to say we haven’t already met?”

“I know you’ve met me,” she said with a laugh. “I’m talking about your _other_ hero, who squashes people like grapes apparently.”

“Very funny,” he sighed. “Look, we’ll all be watching this morning, all right? I’ll only leave to see to the preparations for your next guests when I must, and not one moment before I know you’ll be safe enough. You have your knives?”

She nodded in response, patting the sheaths she usually tucked into her training outfit.

“Good. I… don’t antagonize him, okay?” he asked. “I know you. He’s come a long way to do you a favor.”

“No promises,” was her only reply before she left with a jaunty wave.

From the stables, it wasn’t a far walk to the open fields the men preferred for training. Aelin pulled out one of her knives as she walked, carelessly twirling it around her fingers. She may agree with her cousin that it would be poor form to antagonize the Fae who awaited her, but there was a fine line between antagonism and showing him that she was not someone to be trifled with. Far better that he go into this knowing that she would not allow _any_ male to walk all over her.

With all the grace expected of a princess, Aelin stepped onto the training field, eyes trained on her knife rather than any other occupants. Slowly, she allowed herself a scan of the area, starting at the ground level. One other pair of boots, well-worn from travel but clearly well-made, stood before her. The remainder of the field was abandoned as Aedion had said. Sweeping her gaze up, she found he wore rather utilitarian clothes. A pale surcoat broke neatly over matching trousers, neither adorned, both loose enough to allow the male to conceal multiple weapons on his person. A closer look told her he had indeed armed himself, just as she had. Good. She would hate to be taught by someone who couldn’t fight.

His arms were crossed before him, posture showing a lack of amusement but also highlighting his broad chest. Yes, he was a warrior to be sure, tall and strong. Any other profession would be a waste of all that muscle, she mused. His hair didn’t seem to match the profile of a warrior at first glance, long silver locks falling neatly to his elbows. Perhaps all Fae males kept it long, though, so she decided it was still possible that he actually intended to train her today instead of lecture.

A dark tattoo disappeared under the collar of his surcoat, and she spent a few moments tracing the graceful curving lines. It took a while to recognize the symbols as characters in the Old Language, and with the artistic license that had been used in its creation Aelin knew it was beyond her ability to translate. From the side of his neck it appeared to swirl up toward his left temple—or perhaps that was the starting point and it cascaded down from there? It was difficult to say, and even more difficult to discern exactly how far beneath that coat it extended.

Aelin’s eyes followed the curves of the tattoo back up over a strong jaw, and over to the deceptively delicate points of his ears. She knew that he would have equally delicate fangs—or would he? Would they be as strong as the rest of him instead? She had never met a full-blooded Fae male before, she had no basis of comparison but her own face. She would find out soon enough, though, she was sure.

The knife still twirling between her fingers slowed and then stopped when she met his pine-green eyes.

“ _You_ ,” she snarled as she launched herself at him, knife angled toward that broad chest.

* * *

Aelin’s attack was cut embarrassingly short as the wind itself around him picked up, knocking her flat on her back.

The male’s— _Rowan’s_ —voice was smooth and unruffled, as if he had been expecting her to do exactly what she had done. “You’re on time, at least,” he said.

“You—that was your magic,” she realized. “The wind, just now.”

“It was,” Rowan confirmed. “But it’s not _my_ magic that brings us here.”

Aelin glared up into those green eyes as she sat up. The cold intelligence behind them seemed familiar… “The hawk,” she realized. “That was your secondary form. You delivered your own message. Why?”

“Shift, and I’ll tell you,” came his retort.

“What?”

Rowan gracefully folded himself into a seated position, and Aelin realized that the tattoo down the left side of his face also covered his left hand. Did it extend all along his arm, or were they two separate sets of markings? “That is the only task we have for today. If you can’t control your shifting, how can you hope to control your magic?”

“If this is some kind of trick—” she snarled.

Before she could finish, though, the warrior carefully pulled a knife from under his surcoat and set it on the ground in front of him. “You can also earn this back by shifting,” he said quietly, green eyes glaring back at her.

Aelin stilled. How had he known…? “I don’t know what you mean,” she replied.

“Are we really doing this?” he demanded. “You’re going to sit there and act like you didn’t throw that at me?”

“We are,” she growled. “And I’ve never been able to control my shifting, so I don’t see how this matters in any case.”

“Need I remind you that you’re the one who attacked me?” he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice and a steely glint in his eyes. “Both times, actually.”

Aelin did her best to keep an embarrassed flush from her cheeks. He was right, of course; she had lost the ability to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about when she had leapt at him with a drawn dagger. “There remains a problem which you failed to address,” she drawled. “I can’t shift. I’ve never been able to do it on command.”

“So you would rather admit to being lazy, then.”

Aelin bit back a snarl. “If you’re trying to rile me into shifting, it won’t work.”

“Oh, I think it will,” Rowan said with a smirk. “The pattern of your… _incidents_ … indicates as much. Unless you weren’t angry to be caught sneaking out like the child you are last month, that is.”

Aelin growled, hands fisting where they rested by her knees. “You’re going to be here a long time if you think you’re going to win this way. I don’t suppose you thought to bring snacks?”

“What, for you? Perhaps you’re accustomed to having your every whim catered to and your life made easy for you, but—”

Whatever Rowan said next was lost to Aelin, who had launched herself at the warrior again before she could talk herself out of it.

This time, rather than deflecting her with his control over the wind, the warrior grabbed her arms and redirected her, neatly throwing her over himself and then standing again as her back hit the dirt. “A few words of advice,” he said, and it infuriated her that he sounded as unaffected as he had when they’d first begun. “I’ve been sworn to my queen as one of her most trusted warriors for almost two centuries longer than you’ve been _alive_. I promise you I’m meaner, stronger, and tougher than you are. So if riling you up is what it takes…”

In a single fluid motion Rowan leaped at her just as she attempted to rise, knocking her back into the ground and pinning her wrists over her head. “ _Shift_ ,” he snarled, green eyes blazing against his lightly tanned face.

Aelin rolled her shoulders and glared right back at him. “No.”

As Rowan opened his mouth to growl a reply, Aelin jerked her knee upward. Taking advantage of his surprise, she was successfully able to roll away from him. She rose back up as quickly as possible and gave herself a few moments to take stock of the situation.

As a Fae male, he was superior in every way to the limitations of her own human appearance. He was faster, he was stronger, and even if she did manage to get away he’d be able to track her down. That wasn’t even taking his magic into account. He had already demonstrated his mastery over the winds, and she’d thought his hands seemed colder than they should have when he’d pinned her. A side effect of the winds, she wondered, or a secondary gift?

If she could shift, or if she could access her own magic without burning down everything around her, she might have stood a chance against him. But as it was, she was outclassed in every way, and she growled as she realized her only advantage was that of surprise. Even that would run out soon enough.

Aelin scowled. She might not be able to win this, but she could absolutely dictate the terms of her own defeat. She could do what he expected, throw herself back into the fray until she was beaten down into exhaustion. She could run into the forest, and hope her knowledge of her surroundings could keep her away from him until he tired of the chase. Or…

Aelin sat on the ground and crossed her legs in front of her, smirking as he halted in his tracks. “You first,” she said.

Looking up at his face through her lashes, she grinned as she read the anger and surprise mixing in his expression. _What?_ he seemed to say without words.

“You heard me,” she replied. “You first.”

He growled in response, displaying canines that Aelin realized were definitely more impressive than her own. “Why?”

Aelin carefully suppressed her natural reaction to shiver at the threatening display. The gods knew she’d been in actual danger before, and she would not let him think this was affecting her in the same way. “I don’t know if your queen told you, but we’ve had very few Fae in Terrasen since I was born,” she said. “I’ve never actually seen the shift before. Maybe if I see what it looks like, I’ll have better success.”

She watched as Rowan considered his response, leaning back on her hands. “ _Fine_ ,” he finally snarled. “Once.”

For a single moment the male was enveloped in a soft white glow, and then a hawk took off from the ground where he had once stood. She looked on as he flew once around the courtyard, and allowed her fingernails to bite into her palms to keep herself from flinching as his landing took him a little too close to her head. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to her, after all. Everything depended on her maintaining what little of an upper hand she could.

With another flash of white light Rowan stood before her again, every bit as irritated as he had been before she’d provoked him into shifting. _Well?_ he seemed to say.

Aelin leaned forward, allowing her curiosity to show. “Where do your clothes go, when you shift?”

“Does it matter?” he responded, clearly taken aback.

“Of course it does.”

He sighed. “It doesn’t for you, since your secondary form is roughly the same size as your Fae form, but fine. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. I don’t think about it.”

“You don’t think about it, and yet you’ve never lost your clothing in a shift?” she asked.

He scowled in response. “I fail to see how this is relevant, but no. I will the shift, and it happens, and I still have my clothes when I shift back.”

Aelin opened her mouth to ask another question, but he cut her off with another growl. “Your turn,” he said. “ _Shift_.”

* * *

A week of training passed, and Aelin still had yet to shift on command. Rowan had scrapped with her, yelled at her, growled at her, and generally been the toughest trainer she had ever dealt with, but it was all to no avail. 

Worse still, she had actually _tried_ to shift in those rare moments she found herself alone, usually when Rowan stalked off into the forest muttering things she pretended not to hear. She had reached down to where she had felt her magic explode out of her time and again.

There was nothing there but embers and ashes.

Aelin sighed. She had mercifully been given the day off today, so that she could properly greet the dignitaries that would be arriving today. Her friends, from various nations. More would arrive in the coming days, but those she considered dearest would be spending an entire week in Orynth to celebrate her birthday.

If only she could fall asleep, so that she would at least appear somewhat rested. She had already visited a healer for her black eye, but the mental and physical exhaustion were impossible to truly magic away even for the most skilled.

She found she was unable to find rest, though, no matter how hard she attempted to clear her mind. Every time she came close, the same thought ran through her, shaking her to the core.

_Today’s the day._

Lysandra’s check into her Regent’s list of eligible marriage candidates was complete. Tonight, they would get together with her newly-arrived friends and sort through what she had been able to find.

Tonight, she would choose someone to seriously court and eventually marry.

Certainly, she hoped that she would be able to work her way out of the requirement to actually marry whoever it was she selected. But Darrow had seemed so adamant that the lords would never fully approve her without a consort. _To keep you in line,_ he had sneered, and she scowled at the memory.

Hopefully Lysandra’s research would reveal a candidate she could at least stand, if she couldn’t avoid marriage altogether.

Finally Aelin gave up on sleep, instead slipping into her closet. While she was greeting dear friends today, their status as Queen of the Wastes and Princess of Ellywe respectively meant that proper dress was required. Skipping over her various tunics and trousers, she smiled when she found exactly the right gown for the day.

The gown was silken in material, color matching the blue of her eyes at the top of the bodice, fading to a paler hue in the skirts that would swirl about her legs as she walked. While it did have long sleeves that clung to her arms with just enough give to allow her to move freely, they sat just below her shoulders, which led to a back low enough to displease Darrow but high enough for propriety. All down the length of the gown golden thread created patterns of branches and flowers. While she would be expected to don something more imposing for her birthday the following week, this would more than suffice for today. She quickly dressed herself, and was working on the ties in the back when Lysandra swept in and took over for her.

Aelin smiled at her friend’s reflection in the mirror they stood before. “Thank you,” she sighed. “I suppose the fact that this is a big day is affecting me.”

“That would explain why you’re overdressed,” Lysandra replied. “If you’re trying to get Darrow on your side, I somehow doubt this gown would succeed. That said, I fully approve regardless. You look stunning.”

“I do try,” Aelin said with a grin. “You’ll be meeting us here tonight, yes? Might as well get it over with.”

“Of course.” Lysandra carefully rearranged Aelin’s skirts before stepping back. “Are you doing something to your hair today, or just throwing on a circlet?”

“Please,” she laughed. “Ansel would tease me mercilessly for standing on ceremony if I showed up in a circlet.” As she spoke, she began to twist parts of her long golden hair into a braid. Most of it would hang down her back, but she carefully pinned the braided top half into a knot at the crown of her head. “They’ll be arriving any minute now, won’t they?”

Lysandra cleared her throat delicately. “Nehemia actually just arrived.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Aelin demanded, shoving delicate slippers onto her feet before practically flying out of the room, Lysandra following close behind in the form of a cat. Halfway to the throne room where she was to meet her new arrivals, though, she ran into a broad and firm obstacle that she quickly realized was a man. “Oh!” she gasped, startled. “I’m so—”

The apology died on her lips, quickly replaced with a familiar frustration as she looked up and realized she had run into Rowan. “It’s you,” she scowled. “I thought you would be off running through the forest, or perhaps flying over the castle, since I doubt you believe in days of rest.”

“Believe it or not, I _do_ have other duties,” he responded cooly, pine-green eyes seeming to glow within his lightly-tanned face. “If you must know, my queen expects regular updates so that she knows when I’ll be returning. I also train with your guard. I would have more time for _both_ of those duties if you—”

But before he could rile her any further Aelin turned on her heel and breezed into the throne room, ignoring her trainer in favor of beginning to welcome her friends. As the door closed behind her she squared her shoulders, determined to spend just one evening _not_ thinking about Rowan or his harsh training methods at all.

* * *

Later that evening Aelin leaned against a pile of pillows on her bed in a robe of dark blue silk, Princess Nehemia Ytger of Ellywe to her left and Ansel of Briarcliff, Queen of the Wastes, to her right. “I never expected you’d be the first of us married off, you know,” Ansel said quietly. “Honestly, I was expecting it to be…” she trailed off, glancing over at Nehemia.

The tall, willowy princess sighed, a small smile gracing her dark features. “You can say it, you know. I was expecting that as well. At least you have options to select from, Aelin.”

“That’s true enough,” Aelin agreed. “Lysandra will be meeting us any moment. I had her researching the list I was given.”

“Do you think she’ll have portraits available?” Ansel grinned. “We can’t marry you off to some ancient noble just because your regent says so.”

At that moment Lysandra slipped into the room, a small stack of papers with her. “Of course I have portraits,” she sniffed. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Aelin sat up straight as the shifter set her papers on the center of the bed and then climbed up to join them. “Very well,” she said. “Let’s hear the first one.”

Lysandra smiled. “You won’t like the first one. It’s Aedion.”

As Aelin scowled, Ansel leaned in. “Your cousin? I suppose it’s not unheard of, but…”

“But nothing,” she responded coolly. “I’m not marrying Aedion and Darrow can’t make me. Next?”

Lysandra shuffled her papers. “Next up is Sartaq, a prince of the Southern Continent.”

“He’s unlikely to agree to a match,” Nehemia pointed out. “He’s first in line for his own throne at the moment, the favorite of his father. As you don’t have an heir he would need to give it up and come here.”

“I agree,” Aelin responded. “We’ll keep him in mind in case the rest of the options are horrid, but it would look better if I made a good faith effort to comply with this requirement before I proposed an option that would never work.”

Lysandra nodded. “I thought you would say that. He’s more distantly related to you, but I discounted Crown Prince Galan Ashryver of Wendlyn for the same reasons as Aedion and Sartaq,” she said as she flipped to a portrait of the male in question.

“If he’s not truly to be considered, why did you bring his portrait?” asked Nehemia.

Ansel grinned. “What Nehemia means to say is _thank you_ for bringing his portrait. For those of us who aren’t related to him, he’s certainly easy to look at.”

Aelin sighed. “Lysandra, is there _anyone_ on this list who might work out?”

Lysandra smiled at her. “There are a few more reasonable options. Lord Chaol Westfall, formerly of Anielle, currently Captain of the Guard in Adarlan.”

Aelin glanced down at the portrait before her, smiling as she was met with an artist’s interpretation of short chestnut hair and coppery eyes. “Unusual, that Darrow would put anyone on the short list who didn’t come from a royal family.”

“It could be a test,” Ansel speculated. “See if you’ll pick what he sees as an inferior choice, just because he’s pretty.”

Nehemia shook her head. “It’s possible, but unlikely. The Westfalls are a very old family in Adarlan, and have been close to the Havilliards for as long as they’ve been in power. He may not have a royal title of his own, but the name does still hold weight.”

“I do have concerns, though,” Aelin remarked. “He currently holds a position that commands great royalty to a monarch that isn’t me, and he would have worked hard to attain that position. I don’t know if he would be easily convinced to be loyal to Terrasen instead, if it were possibly at Adarlan’s expense. It would also be a point of weakness in any future negotiations with Adarlan. Set him aside for now, but we’ll keep him in mind.”

“Very well.” Lysandra set his portrait to one side and returned to her notes, then laughed. “Are you ready for the next candidate on the list?”

Aelin’s eyes narrowed. “Why do I suspect that I’m not going to like this?”

Lysandra grinned and set out the next portrait, and Aelin felt heat at her fingertips at the sight of familiar green eyes. “Prince Rowan Whitethorn of Doranelle.”

“No,” Aelin said sharply. “Even if we hadn’t already met personally, he’s blood-sworn to another queen.”

Lysandra laughed. “You could’ve mentioned you were training with a prince. From what I found, he’s essentially a prince in title alone, more a distant relation of the Queen, but surely it was still worth mentioning?”

“I prefer to discuss him as little as possible,” Aelin said loftily.

“That’s not what Aedion says,” the shifter remarked with a grin.

Aelin growled. “No, and that’s final. Who’s next?”

“The last on the list is Crown Prince Dorian Havilliard of Adarlan,” Lysandra said, revealing a portrait of a young man with sapphire eyes and short dark curls.

“I met him once,” Aelin recalled, “when we were both younger. He spilled his tea on me.”

“Oh, surely you can forgive that,” Ansel said. “He’s attractive enough. Not to mention, your kingdoms are neighbors. Most would support a closer relationship between Terrasen and Adarlan.”

Lysandra smiled. “My contacts here from Adarlan say he’s something of a reformer, bending his father’s ear on all manner of policies to better lives in the country. He’s well loved by his people. And Ansel is correct that he would be more likely than the other crown princes on the list to accept a proposal, given how close your countries are. He has a younger brother, a boy of ten, who he could potentially influence to be a great king. Assuming, of course, he can convince his mother to stop spoiling the boy.”

“A tall order to be sure, from what I hear,” Aelin murmured, but she picked up his portrait regardless.

“He’ll be here next week for your birthday, will he not?” Nehemia asked.

Aelin nodded. “He was among the first to accept the invitation. We can discuss the matter further then. For now, I’ll tell Darrow that I intend to ask him about a courtship. Hopefully that’ll keep him off my back for a little while.”

And as the other girls began to catch up with each other and Lysandra gathered her documents, Aelin stood and walked toward her window, slipping out onto her balcony and gazing up at the familiar constellations. How strange, she mused, that the condition she had thought would be the most difficult to overcome in her ascent to the throne was proving to be the more simple.

As she looked out over the garden, though, loosely braiding her hair in preparation for sleep, she couldn’t help but feel as though this whole matter was about to become more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy freaking crap, you guys, thank you so much for the comments and the kudos! I couldn't have asked for a warmer welcome. :)
> 
> As far as posting goes: Not to make a promise I can't keep, because Life Happens, but I _think_ this is going to update Tuesdays. Seems to be fitting in well with the flow of my writing.


	4. Chapter Three

Prince Dorian arrived in Orynth four days later, three days before her birthday, and Aelin greeted him with a smile. She had donned a simple gown of Terrasen green for the occasion, and a circlet of twisted golden strands kept her loose hair from falling into her face. “Prince Dorian, it’s an honor to meet again after so long,” she said in welcome. “I thank you for taking the journey from Adarlan to celebrate with us.”

Dorian answered her smile with an easy grin of his own, sapphire eyes sparkling against dark curls. “The journey was easy enough, and the pleasure is mine,” he said. “And it is good to meet you again, after… what, almost eleven years, now?”

“A long time, indeed,” Aelin replied. “I do hope your visit will give us time to become reacquainted with one another.”

“As do I,” he smiled. “Perhaps you could reacquaint me with the castle grounds, if you have the time?”

Aelin glanced to her right, where Regent Darrow stood, and he nodded his approval. “I certainly have the time,” she replied. “Are you tired from your journey? Should we meet at a later time?”

“If I’m being honest, your company would likely be far more relaxing than unpacking my things,” the prince grinned, offering her his arm.

Aelin laughed softly and stepped up to him, gracefully slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow and leading him away from the throne room. “Were you hoping for a tour of the grounds, or the common areas of the castle?” she asked.

Dorian laughed, the sound a rich baritone that filled the hallway in which they stood. “You’ve caught me, I’m afraid,” he admitted. “I’ve heard tales of the Library of Orynth, and now that we’ve slipped away from your regent and he doesn’t expect to see me until the evening I was hoping you could point me in the right direction.”

“I didn’t realize you were so interested in literature,” Aelin blurted out before she could stop herself. “Pardon me, I know as Crown Prince of Adarlan you would have to be well-read, but…”

“Oh, please don’t tell me you thought I was a warrior,” he replied, eyes wide in feigned terror. “I can wield a sword well enough, my guard made sure of that, but I’ll admit I would rather be reading.”

Aelin smiled and began leading him toward the library. “I’m afraid my lessons in magic take up most of my days now, but before that I loved sneaking off to the library myself,” she confessed. “Truly, I believe you could find a book or a scroll about any topic you imagined in our collection. I’ll admit that I miss it, so I’ll take you there myself, on one condition.”

Dorian gave her a conspiratorial grin. “And what might that condition be?”

“You must allow me to accompany you. After all, my regent likely thinks I’m showing you the rose garden, or perhaps the stables. It would seem odd if I simply abandoned you now.”

“That seems fair enough,” he allowed. “Perhaps you could direct me to some of your favorites.”

“Oh, I’m not sure your visit is long enough for that list,” she said with a laugh. “We’ll have to discuss a few of them, though, as well as some of yours.”

As they turned a corner and she opened a door, Aelin smiled at one of her favorite sights in the world.

The library encompassed an entire floor on its own, and she suspected there was even more to it than what she had explored. Each wall was filled floor to ceiling with books and scrolls, and each room was packed with as many shelves as it could reasonably hold. It was more than enough for a person to get lost in, and Aelin had herself, on many occasions. The shelves were loosely categorized by topic, with the newer books toward the entrance and the older ones in harder to reach areas. The oldest scrolls, Aelin knew, were kept shielded by a layer of glass, with only the most experienced of their historians allowed to move them.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked as she glanced over at her companion.

Dorian simply stared around himself, eyes wide as he took in the vast array of texts that made up this section of the library. “I hardly know where to begin,” he breathed.

“I felt the same way myself,” Aelin admitted, “the first time I came here. It’s easy to get lost if you’re not careful. And what you’re seeing is only one chamber, the library takes up at least this entire floor.”

“Truly?”

“And that’s only the parts I’ve explored myself,” she grinned. “Is there a particular topic that holds your interest? Philosophy? History? The arts?”

And as Dorian began to tell her of his most recent finds in the Adarlan library, Aelin led him toward her favorite corner. A window on each wall gave the area light during most hours of the day, and a small desk sat tucked against the southern wall. In front of the desk was a chair, worn but still comfortable, and writing supplies were neatly laid out on the desk’s surface. It was just enough space for a few pieces of paper in addition to a single book, and she had spent countless hours in this very space as she learned about the kingdom she was to inherit.

A small corner of the desk was scorched, and Aelin ran her fingertips across the burned wood fondly. “I did this when I was eight,” she said. “I had slipped away from my parents, and I was hiding among the shelves when I found this little desk. One of the guardsmen found me, but I was so lost in the tale I was reading that I didn’t hear him approach until his hand was on my shoulder. It was the first time my magic truly manifested, and I was banned from the library for almost a year.”

“What made them change their minds?” Dorian asked as he inspected the scorch marks himself.

Aelin laughed softly. “Mostly the fact that they couldn’t keep me out,” she admitted. “I kept sneaking in whenever I could. Even now, when I could ask for whatever books I wish to be delivered to my rooms…”

Dorian nodded. “I agree. It’s not quite the same, is it? I’ve always preferred what I found myself.”

As they continued to talk, Aelin allowed her mind to wander. This meeting had already gone better than she could have possibly dreamed. _Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to be married to him,_ she mused.

If only her magic lessons were proceeding as smoothly as this arrangement was beginning to.

* * *

The next morning, Aelin grunted as her back hit the dirt of the training grounds for the third time. With a frustrated growl, she rolled onto her front and lifted herself onto her hands and knees, only allowing herself a single breath before springing back to her feet and whirling around to once more face her attacker.

Aedion laughed where he stood above her, one hand still extended in an offer to help her to her feet. “You realize you don’t actually have to do this, right?” he asked. “No one expects you to be a master of hand-to-hand combat, especially given your magic and your skills with a knife.”

“I don’t always have a knife, and I can’t rely on my magic,” Aelin replied, tucking a strand of stray hair back into her braid. “I have to be able to take on someone bigger and stronger than me, or at least not lose terribly.”

Aedion looked unimpressed, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against a fence post. “And this has nothing whatsoever to do with how your magic training is going,” he drawled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said haughtily. “My training is—”

He cut her off with a laugh. “Cousin, for that to work I would’ve needed to not witness your training myself. You two really started off on the wrong foot, didn’t you?”

That didn’t begin to describe it, really, but Aelin knew there was a limit to what she could tell him. “You could say that. He’s so…”

As she grasped for words, Aedion lifted a single golden eyebrow. “I’ve never known you to lack an opinion,” he remarked. “Don’t tell me you’re uncertain now.”

“ _Infuriating,_ ” she finally snarled. “He’s absolutely infuriating. Condescending. Smug. Patronizing. Maddening.” With each word she spat, she threw another punch at Aedion.

Of course, he neatly blocked each attack she launched at him. “Don’t you think in this subject he might know best? I think a few centuries of honing your magic for offensive tactics as much as he has would allow someone to be a little confident in their own knowledge.”

“I’d feel better about it if he wasn’t so… _him,_ ” she growled. “It’s like nothing I do is even close to good enough, or even enough to merit any kind of reaction at all!”

Aedion laughed then. “He’s got good insight, certainly. He can’t have just guessed that the easiest way to get under your skin is to act like you’re not getting under his.”

With a shout, Aelin darted in again. This time, she finally managed to land a glancing blow that slid along his ribs. With a knife it would have been devastating, but as it was he just grinned at her. “Better,” he said. “You have to remember your targets are different when you don’t have a blade, though.”

She growled in response and admitted, “I got lucky. You were distracted.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” he replied. “Distraction is a valid tactic, used correctly. It may be your best advantage in this kind of situation. Believe it or not, you’re not always going to be the biggest or strongest person in the room. You have to use other strengths.”

“You make it sound so easy,” she sighed.

Aedion shrugged. “Sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t. But I don’t think it’s wrong to do what it takes to make sure you can fight another day. Now. Is this really about learning hand-to-hand combat, or do you honestly think you need an excuse to talk to your own cousin about what’s on your mind?”

Aelin laughed and carefully untwisted the knot she had tied her braided hair into. “Please,” she said breezily. “You know I have no problem with interrupting anything unimportant. Besides, training with you was the only way I could get out of training with… _him._ ”

“Oh, so we’re not even saying his name now?” Aedion grinned.

“Is there a reason we should be?” she asked. “I’ve heard that saying someone’s name while they’re absent can attract… unwanted attention. Especially from someone whose hearing is naturally heightened because he’s not human.”

Her cousin sighed, running a hand through his own golden locks. “You really don’t like him, do you?”

“I don’t trust him,” Aelin replied. “The first full-blooded Fae to visit our court in years, not to mention blood-sworn to their queen, who I _also_ don’t trust. I’m surprised you seem to be getting along with him as well as you are, if I’m being honest.”

Aedion shrugged in response. “He’s a warrior, through and through. Very practical. I can respect that. Besides, his training with the Bane has been enlightening.”

“You let him train with you, knowing that he could be made to report on every detail he happens to see at his queen’s will?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he grinned. “I see everything that he sees. Let him report that we train hard. Let him tell her our strength as a company. And if she presses further, let him admit that he helped us become stronger. I’m certain he’ll find a way around mentioning that fact for as long as possible.”

Aelin grinned back at him. “You let him in to limit how much he would feel comfortable reporting. How devious.”

“Well, we can’t all be you, but I do _try_ sometimes,” he replied.

Aelin took a step back and stretched, arms over her head, before relaxing once more. “Well. Keep up the good work. I’m sure I’m going to want to try this again soon.”

“Is it really necessary?” Aedion asked. “You could just—”

But before she could hear his suggestions on how to deal with her training she was already walking away from the field. She knew that Rowan would find her for training in the afternoon regardless of where she hid, but she was hoping she could spend just a little more time in the library before he dragged her out. Perhaps it would be merely delaying the inevitable, but the last thing she wanted at this point was to sit around and wait for him.

* * *

Predictably, Aelin had only just found what appeared to be a promising book when Rowan found her. Knowing her time was up and it was pointless to fight it, Aelin quietly handed her find to a librarian and asked for it to be delivered to her rooms before following him back down the stairs and out to the training grounds.

Despite having known that it was inevitable that he would find her, Aelin found herself scowling at his broad shoulders as they walked. “I hope you enjoyed your morning,” she offered as they left the castle and began walking to the grounds. “After all, you so frequently mention what you could do if you _weren’t_ so busy with me, it must have been delightful.”

“Some of us actually _work,_ ” he replied shortly. “Not everyone has the luxury of whiling away their days indoors among friends, regardless of whether or not you’re gracing them with your presence.”

Aelin took a deep breath in an effort to maintain her calm. Perhaps her best recourse would be to do as he did and act as though she was unbothered by anything. “I hardly think you would consider a day indoors a luxury,” she said lightly. “As a matter of fact, if I didn’t know you were assigned your own rooms when you arrived I would wonder if perhaps you spent your nights nesting in a tree.”

Rowan paused at the entrance to the training grounds, just long enough to open the gate and let both of them in. “Perhaps if you spent less time wondering about my sleeping arrangements and more time focusing on your training, you’d have already mastered your shift and possibly even your magic.”

Aelin felt her fingers curl into fists at her side, and it was an effort to relax them again. _Calm,_ she reminded herself. She would keep her calm. She wouldn’t fall victim to his condescension, not today. Instead, she reached up to her braided hair and carefully wound it around itself until it was knotted out of her way. “I think you overestimate the amount of time I spend wondering about your sleeping arrangements,” she mused. “Believe me when I say I try to spend as little time outside of our delightful little sessions thinking about you as I can get away with.”

Rather than show any outward reaction to her comments, Rowan simply sat in the center of the training ground. “You could be rid of that burden even sooner, you know. All you have to do is shift.”

Aelin scowled as she joined him on the ground, carefully crossing her legs and tucking her feet underneath herself. “What does it matter to you, anyway?” she asked. “What’s stopping you from telling Regent Darrow that we’re through and leaving?”

“I presume you haven’t forgotten about the oath I swore to my queen,” came his reply. “I am under orders to help you gain control over your abilities, and cannot leave until my task is complete.”

“That certainly hasn’t stopped you before,” Aelin snapped as heat began coursing through her veins.

Faintly, as if through a thick blanket, she felt the air around them grow cold and still. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rowan snarled, fangs exposed and pine-green eyes sharp and frigid.

Aelin laughed, though there was no humor in the sound. “Your precious oath to your precious queen,” she mocked as he growled. “It hasn’t stopped you from leaving before.”

The wind picked up suddenly, blasting her onto her back in a frigid whirlwind—or was it the male himself and not his magic that had knocked her back? It had happened so quickly, she couldn’t be certain. His fingers encircled her wrists as he pinned her to the dirt, and as Aelin looked on his eyes grew cold and dark. “Do not speak in that tone about that which you do not understand,” he said sharply.

Gods, what had she said that had provoked such rage in his face but such deadness in his eyes? Despite a small voice in the back of her head shrieking about caution, she pressed on. “I fail to see what there is to understand or not understand,” she continued. “You’ve left me before. You do it every gods-damned rutting day. You’ve left me completely alone, with nothing but my own thoughts to remind myself of what a failure I am.” All of it was true, and suddenly Aelin realized just how much it had been bothering her all this time.

For all that she gave the outward appearance of being surrounded by friends, Aelin knew there were precious few people she could trust with every part of herself lest they abandon her. Her cousin, for all she knew he loved her, put the security of her kingdom above herself—as he should, and as she had asked of him. Lysandra was more likely to be understanding, but less likely to fully grasp the complexity of the messes she had put herself into through her own actions. She couldn’t even be certain she could trust her dearest friends, for they had kingdoms of their own to maintain and would quite possibly take advantage of any weakness she let them see.

Worse still, most of those people who _had_ known all of her were lost to her. Her parents had passed long ago, and the one person who had taken the time to learn all of her, the person she would’ve left everything behind for if she had to—he was gone, too, taken beyond her reach. Moreover, anyone who she could tell about him would immediately realize what she had come to know in the years since his passing. Her first and only love had been her greatest weakness and her biggest failure of them all, in more ways than one, and nothing she could do now could possibly make up for it.

While she had been lost in her thoughts, Rowan had only grown more irate. “Well, perhaps if you could master something as basic as shifting you wouldn’t think of yourself as such a failure,” he retorted as his grip on her wrists tightened.

Suddenly, a deadly calm washed over Aelin as she realized she had had enough of this. “If you’re trying to provoke me into shifting, you’d be better off hitting me again,” she snapped. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, and I certainly don’t need help remembering my own failings. Or you could just leave me again, you know, like you’re so good at doing.”

A growl filled the air and then there was a sharp pain piercing the junction of her neck and her shoulder. It took her a moment to grasp what had happened, but as Rowan spat a mouthful of blood— _her_ blood—onto the ground, she realized he had bitten her.

Through her sudden rage at such a possessive and claiming act from someone who hated her as much as Rowan did, she heard a shriek and dimly recognized it as her own voice. The ground appeared before her, silver hair splayed across the dirt—had she flipped them? She couldn’t recall—and her hands clawed at his chest as a brief moment of agony surged through her.

Then she bared her own fangs at him, and there was nothing but fire.

* * *

Later that evening, Aelin paced in the hallway outside of the healers’ wing, hands clutching at a small jar of salve she had taken while no one was paying attention. It had been an impulsive decision to take it, and one she didn’t regret, but following through with the next phase of her plan was significantly more daunting. Even as nerves threatened to overtake her, though, she knew she had to carry on. It was her own fault she was in this mess, anyhow.

It would be easy to blame Rowan, and to say he had brought it on himself through his own actions. It would be easy to stew in self-righteous anger threaded through with self-pity. But it would be wrong to ignore her own role in the fight they’d had, and the consequences of her own loss of control were seared into her mind’s eye.

After he had bitten her, Aelin had finally, _f_ _inally_ shifted—and then promptly lost control of her magic. Flames had swirled around them both, singeing the ends of her own hair as well as his. Before long, though, she was left gasping for breath, collapsed against his unfairly broad chest as the flames around them extinguished. He had pulled the air away from her, she realized now, and in so doing had deprived the fire of the fuel it required. Her aunt truly had sent a well-suited trainer, as angry as it still made her that it had been deemed necessary. Not someone with similar powers, but someone who could contain her as she learned to control the fires that burned within her.

That is, assuming he wanted anything to do with her now. Which he probably didn’t.

When she had shifted her weight to pull away from him, he had done his best to hide his reaction, but her enhanced eyesight had caught the tiniest flinch. She had looked down and gasped, scrambling away from him.

There were two holes in the fabric of his shirt from where she had burned through it, and underneath those holes bright red welts had just been beginning to blister.

Before she had gathered the nerve to say anything to him at all he had already stood, stalking away with some snarled remark about her lack of control and leaving her to stare after him. She had then looked down at her trembling hands, curling them into fists as she realized that of course her own flesh was unharmed. Aside from occasional scorched hair, she had never once harmed herself with her own power. She had only harmed those around her, and this lapse in control had been no exception.

Aelin shook her head in a vain attempt to clear her mind. She’d gone out of her way to stay in her rooms for the evening meal, doing her best to read and not worry about what was passing without her. It wasn’t until Aedion had returned from the evening meal that she learned that Rowan had been absent as well.

She had then gone to check with the palace healers, but it was apparent that he hadn’t stopped by to have his burns—the burns _she_ had given him—examined. And so she had stolen a small jar of healing salve, which led her to her current predicament.

The ideal situation would be for her to find his rooms empty and simply leave the jar somewhere he could find it. Even as she thought it, though, she realized both that it was unlikely to work and that it wouldn’t be enough. No, she needed to own up to her shortcomings and apologize properly.

Aelin growled softly and tugged at the ends of her newly-trimmed hair, which now fell just below her shoulders. It was ridiculous to be this concerned over him when he was so clearly unconcerned with her, but she couldn’t stop reliving the moment she realized just how badly she had burned him. Even though most people would say he had certainly provoked it, the memory still turned her stomach.

She took a deep breath and strode purposefully to the rooms Rowan had been assigned before she could talk herself out of it. Luckily, she ran into no one else along the way. It was confusing enough to her that she was doing this to begin with; she couldn’t imagine trying to explain it to anyone else.

Steeling her nerves, she knocked on his door and received only a wordless grunt in reply. Taking that as permission, Aelin carefully opened the door and froze at the sight that greeted her.

She had obviously interrupted Rowan in the middle of cutting his own singed hair; a pile of silver strands laid on his desk beside a knife. His shirt was off, and before she could stop herself her eyes traced along the swirling lines of his tattoo. Without clothing to cover the marks she could see that it flowed unbroken along the entire left side of his body, across his shoulder and down his arm all the way to his fingertips. He turned to face her, pine-green eyes narrowing in irritation, and she thrust the jar of salve in his direction before he could say a word. “For the burns,” she managed.

He delicately took the jar from her grasp and inspected it before setting it aside. “I deserved it,” he admitted, and Aelin knew without asking that this was as close to an apology for his own actions as she was likely to receive.

Aelin shrugged in reply, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear that was once more rounded rather than pointed like his own. “That doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad about it, or that I don’t.”

Rowan frowned, studying her as though she was a particularly stubborn puzzle. “We need to work on your control,” he finally said. “I told you to shift, not to throw a magical tantrum.”

Just like that Aelin forgot she had ever felt bad for her part in it, the feeling replaced by the sparks of irritation that constantly burned through her whenever they spoke. “You didn’t _tell_ me to do anything,” she snapped. “You _bit_ me. What the rutting hell was that, anyway, some sort of domineering Fae male horseshit?”

He shrugged, and sympathy warred with vindictive delight as the motion pulled his burned chest taut. “It worked, didn’t it? You shifted. Now you just need to learn to do it on command instead of reacting like a sheltered princess who didn’t get her way.”

Aelin crossed her arms as she leaned against the door frame. “I fail to see what my title has to do with any of this,” she said.

“I’ve spent a great deal of time observing how you act these past few weeks,” he replied. “The only thing holding you back is your own fear.”

“I think it’s _reasonable_ to be afraid of hurting the people around me,” she snarled.

“Which is why you _need_ to learn,” Rowan snapped back as he finally stood. “If you can’t manage to set your fears aside and learn some godsdamned control, you’ll truly become the worthless figurehead you fear you are. I have neither the time nor the patience to coach you through whatever trifling fears you’ve experienced in your terribly short life, nor do I care. I am here to teach you to control your magic, not to assuage your sense of self-pity, and _certainly_ not to be your friend. The sooner you realize that, the sooner we can both be rid of each other. Hate me if you must. I _do not care._ ”

Before Aelin could reach through the sudden wave of tingling numbness that rushed through her and find the words to respond to such obvious animosity, Rowan crossed the room in four quick strides. “Now _get out,_ ” he snarled as he slammed the door in her face.

Aelin stared at the wood scant inches away from her face, jaw slack in surprise, before collecting herself enough to walk away. She didn’t make it far, though, slipping into an abandoned room nearby rather than attempt to maintain her composure all the way back to her own rooms.

She hadn’t expected Rowan to be particularly interested in listening to her, she reminded herself. She had injured him mere hours beforehand, after all. Not to mention that, as he had so rudely reminded her, he was only to stay until she had mastered her own power and then they would never see each other again.

It wasn’t even as if she particularly liked him. He was domineering and stubborn, and his temper ran as hot as her own for all that he had mastered his own control over ice and wind rather than fire. But perhaps in spite of the similarities she saw in them, or perhaps because of them, she couldn’t help but feel that it might’ve been nice to talk with him just once. To understand, and to be understood in turn rather than hated.

Aelin shook her head. It was a foolish notion, for a foolish girl. She should have known better.

Despite that knowledge, though, she couldn’t help but feel as if a small part of her had curled up and died along with that foolish hope. It shouldn’t have mattered that he thought so little of her. He barely knew her, and their time as master and student was limited in scope. It shouldn’t have mattered at all.

But it did, and she couldn’t for the life of her begin to figure out why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well, it's _a_ Tuesday, right???
> 
> ~~Please don't hate me.~~
> 
> I do actually want to apologize for the delay, y'all! I had the next chapter all ready to go and written up... only to realize that several things needed to happen _before_ that chapter. I was just entirely too impatient for them to stop hating each other and start moving toward ~~the bedroom~~ an understanding.
> 
> They'll make up next chapter, I swear! Well, kind of. It wouldn't really be Rowaelin without a slow build, I feel. But the worst is over. Or at least, I hope it is, because this chapter was _super_ hard to write and I JUST WANT MY BABIES TO BE HAPPY ALREADY.


	5. Chapter Four

Late at night on the eve of the princess’ twentieth birthday, Celaena Sardothien slipped into the alleys of Orynth once more. She had been avoiding the streets at night of late after her run-in with the Fae warrior the last time she had slipped out, but she couldn’t wait until he decided to leave town. She had to act, lest the trail grow cold again.

This time, rather than moving through the alleyways, she was crawling over the roofs of the city to reach her destination. After her previous visit to the warehouse, she was taking no chances. Besides, the guards were so focused on the roads and alleys that as long as she kept relatively close to the surfaces to which she clung she actually had a greater chance of passing unnoticed.

Finally she reached the roof of the warehouse, and tugged on the hood of her cloak to make sure her face remained concealed as she glanced around to make sure she hadn’t been followed. A hawk watching from the roof across the alley was her only companion, and she was about to slip down to the alley below when she froze.

Hawks didn’t hunt this late at night. It was _him_.

With a fierce glare in the hawk’s direction she gestured down into the alley before climbing down herself. A twitch of her own cloak hid the soft glow of the Fae male’s shift from anyone who was nearby. “What are you _doing_?” she hissed. “If you’re trying to get me killed, I guarantee there are easier ways.”

Her glare was met with a cold smirk. “I only wished to see what could draw you from the p—”

Quickly, she leapt forward and cut him off with a hand over his mouth. “ _Not. Here._ ”

Celaena hissed as the male bit her hand in reply. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the guard,” he growled.

Pretending she was taking a moment to think, Celaena glanced into the window of the warehouse. The room that had once served as the spy’s office was empty. Abandoned. She had stayed away too long, and it was all this male’s rutting fault. Not only had he ruined her hunt tonight, he was threatening to end it forever. There was only one move left to make.

“Come with me,” she said, “and I’ll tell you everything.”

The male lifted a single eyebrow. “You expect to be able to sneak back into the palace like that, tonight of all nights,” he deadpanned.

“I’ve snuck into far more difficult places, for your information,” she replied breezily. “But no. We’re not going to the palace. You’ll have to trust me, as I’m choosing to trust you.” She wasn’t, of course, but she thought it sounded nice enough.

Before he could respond to her she was clambering back up to the roof, forcing him to either follow her or end the conversation. As she hauled herself onto the roof she looked to her left and saw that he had already hoisted himself up effortlessly, and she growled quietly at the reminder of his superior speed, strength, and dexterity. “This way. Stay low.”

His amused reply was quiet and yet full of unvoiced laughter. “This would be so much easier if you would just—”

“Hush,” she snarled as she led them toward the outskirts of the city. “ _Later_.”

Mercifully, the male remained silent until they reached their destination.

Though it had been untouched since that day almost two years prior, she still paid for the apartment on the outskirts of town that she had once shared. It would be safe enough for her purposes, though the surroundings would make her explanation that much harder.

A quick check around the perimeter revealed that, as she had expected, no one had been near the apartment in weeks. She quickly ushered the warrior into the apartment and closed the door, only then pulling back the hood of her cloak. “I’m sure you have questions,” she said smoothly. “Before you begin, you should know that there’s only so much it’s safe to discuss, even here.”

“My _question_ ,” the male sneered as he lifted his own hood to reveal his now-cropped silver hair, “is how a sheltered little princess such as yourself came to be sneaking around your own city, _Aelin_.”

She hissed at him. “My _name_ is Celaena, and for as long as we’re here you won’t call me anything else. Am I clear?”

Rowan—for the cat was decidedly out of the bag now, she might as well acknowledge the warrior’s identity—smirked in reply as he crossed his arms in front of that impossibly broad chest. “Perhaps you should explain yourself first. Then I’ll decide what I’m going to do with you.”

Rather than reply immediately, Celaena took a moment to hang her cloak and inspect her surroundings. The apartment was exactly as she had left it, though it was significantly more dusty from disuse. A small desk in the corner still had paper left out from where Sam had written his final report to the master he had tried so desperately to escape. She had taken her own clothes from the dresser, but if she opened it she knew his clothes would be exactly as they had been when she had unpacked them herself, abandoning the last traces of the journey they would never take.

She had placed a simple rug by the bed, but if she lifted it she knew the floor would still be stained from where he had breathed his last.

It had been a bad idea to come here, she realized. But as difficult as it would be, it was still safer than revealing any of this information within the palace walls. If any of this were heard by the wrong ears…

Better not to think about that. Instead, she took one more moment to gather her thoughts and then turned to face the male she had brought into what had once been a second home to her. With a deep breath, she began.

“His name was Sam.”

* * *

Aelin had intended to only summarize her time as Celaena Sardothien. To provide just enough detail to make Rowan less likely to hand her over to her own guard, without leaving her open to his probable derision and scorn. But the location must have gotten to her, or perhaps she was aching to fill the void he had called attention to after their last fight, for she quickly realized she was telling him everything.

She spoke of how as a girl of sixteen, headstrong and rebellious, she had slipped away from her guards and into the city. How she had run into a boy there, tall and strong with dark hair and beautiful brown eyes. A merchant’s son, he had said at first, there on business from Adarlan. He had recognized her immediately, of course, and hadn’t thought much of her either at their first meeting.

She told Rowan about their second meeting, how she had snuck away to see the boy again and witnessed him killing his target. How he had frozen, fully expecting her to call the guard but unwilling to have the blood of a princess on his hands. But she hadn’t called the guard. No, she helped him clean up after himself instead, saving her questions until the scene was safe.

He had confessed everything, then. What he actually did, and who he worked for. He had clearly expected her to be scared off, had been packing his things as he told her. What he had not expected was for her to kiss his cheek and ask him to teach her his craft, in case she ever needed to protect herself.

She spoke of training with Sam, how he had taught her to use a knife, how she kept her skills sharp by drilling with her most trusted guardsmen when she had the chance. She spoke of walking the streets at night with Sam learning how to trace a man’s movements without being seen, how to watch her own back as well as his. She spoke of how he had helped her create a new identity, Celaena Sardothien, who could walk about town with him.

She spoke of kissing Sam for the first time, just a week after her seventeenth birthday. She told Rowan how startled he had been, how he had sent her away and lost himself in the city for a full week before she could find him again. How she had finally worn down all of his excuses and arguments until he kissed her back.

She spoke until her voice was hoarse, telling him of their plans to run away together shortly after she turned eighteen, to find a place where she wasn’t Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius and he wasn’t bound to the King of Assassins in Adarlan. She told him how they had quietly packed their things, preparing to leave in the middle of the night once he finished his last job.

Finally, she reached the hardest part of her tale, and she took a shuddering breath before pulling back the carpet beside the bed. “I came here the night we were supposed to leave together,” she continued. “When I got here, the door was left open and I heard two men arguing. Neither of them sounded like Sam, or anyone he’d had dealings with before. I made a sound, like I was on my way home to one of the other apartments, and I heard them leave through the window. When I was sure it was safe, I came in. Sam was…”

Her voice gave out then, and she traced a fingertip along the edge of the stain on the floor. Rowan was blessedly silent, as he had been throughout her tale, and it gave her a moment to compose herself. “He can’t have been dead long, if the men were still here when I arrived. But there was nothing anyone could do by the time I found him. I… almost lost control that night,” she admitted. “It would’ve been quite the story, I suppose, since there was no reason for me to be here in the first place. But I didn’t. I couldn’t, not if I was going to find who did this to him.”

“Is this why you’ve been slipping out at night?” Rowan asked, voice quiet.

Aelin nodded. “I found the two men quickly enough. They were just grunts, ordered to do a job based on the reports of a spy. I’ve been trailing the spy ever since. I need proof of who gave the order before I can act, because if I’m right… if I’m right it was his former employer, and it would upset the balance of the underworld in Adarlan. _Especially_ if it came out that Celaena Sardothien is just a name, nothing more.”

With one more glance at the old stains on the floor, Aelin covered them again with the rug before standing once more and stepping back. “Sam was possibly my worst mistake,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I was willing to leave my duty to my country and my people, all for a boy who killed people for a living. If it ever came out I’m not sure Darrow would ever let me _near_ the throne. He’d cast me away for abandoning my people. Maybe rightly so. But I don’t regret what I did, not any of it. Because of him, I’m more committed than ever to doing what I must for Terrasen. I learned how to do what must be done, and I learned that love is both a great asset and a profound weakness. Perhaps most importantly, I learned to think before acting, and to make sure that my actions affect the root of my problems rather than the symptoms. It’s a lesson I’m still learning,” she admitted.

When Aelin turned to face Rowan he was silent, pine-green eyes narrowed in thought. He had sat at the desk at some point during her tale, the furniture slightly too small for his tall and broad frame. As she watched, his gaze dropped to his left hand, tracing along the swirls of the tattoo that marked his skin. “So now you know,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” he replied, looking back up at her.

“Nothing?” she repeated, startled. “Whyever not? What I’ve told you—”

“Is the story of a pain I find all too familiar,” he interrupted, eyes blazing in the dim light.

“I don’t understand,” she admitted as he stood. When his hand went to the ties of his shirt, she lifted her eyebrows. “And I hardly think this is the time—”

The words died on her lips as Rowan’s shirt came off, revealing once more the full design of the tattoo she had only glimpsed in the dim lighting of his rooms before. Artistic renditions of characters in the Old Language cascaded from his left temple and down his face, and the swirling marks she had noted over his shoulder and arm were further characters she couldn’t quite read with her own limited knowledge of the language. “It’s been two hundred three years, ten months, and twenty-eight days since my own actions cost me my mate and the child we would have shared,” he finally revealed. “Her name was Lyria, and these marks tell her story.”

And then it was Aelin’s turn to sit and listen, as Rowan told her a tale of a young male too eager to please his queen and a mate who had begged him to stay. She watched silver line his eyes as he confessed that he was so intent on gaining his queen’s favor that he had marched off to war, failing to scent the life within his mate when he had held her for the last time. He told her how his queen’s enemies had slipped around their ranks, taking a mountain pass that led them by his home, and how he had flown to meet them but arrived too late.

“That’s why you were so upset with me earlier,” she realized. “You didn’t really start in on me until I mentioned the times you left.”

Rowan nodded. “None of this would have happened to her if I’d only stayed when she’d asked it of me. It’s a shame I will carry with me the rest of my life. I… was not myself for a long time, after. I still don’t know if I truly am,” he admitted. “Maybe I never will be again.”

“Perhaps we have more in common than we realized,” Aelin acknowledged. “Sam wasn’t my mate, but… his death changed me, too. For what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone can expect you to be who you were before you lost her. The question you need to ask yourself is whether or not you’re happy with who you are now, and what you can do to try to find peace.”

Rowan snorted. “Wise words, for someone on a quest for revenge. I did the same thing, a long time ago, and I can tell you it won’t bring you the peace you seek.”

Aelin scowled at him. _Are you seriously telling me you would have listened to your own advice?_ she thought.

He shrugged in reply. _Probably not,_ his posture seemed to say. _But that doesn’t mean you need to make my mistakes._

They sat in silence for a few moments longer, Aelin finding that she didn’t quite have the words to say to this male who quite possibly understood her better than she could have possibly imagined. She had seen a determination in his gait and a steel-cold glint to his eyes that she had recognized within herself, of course, and she had become more than familiar with the heat of his temper, but to know that this brokenness, these jagged edges of their souls, was yet another thing shared between them? That was an entirely different matter.

Perhaps, she realized as she traced the lines of his tattoo with her eyes once more, no words were required at all. Perhaps they had already bared their souls enough to find, if not peace, at least some measure of understanding.

Perhaps, for now, that was all either of them needed.

* * *

As they walked back to the palace, the silence between Rowan and Aelin settled into something more comfortable. The Fae warrior matched her pace effortlessly, silver hair gleaming in the predawn light as they strode through the streets.

By the time they reached the eastern gates the sun had begun to rise, the reddish hues highlighting the gold of her hair and the tan of his skin. “You can take the day off today,” he said quietly. “But don’t think any of this means you’ll have an easy time of it tomorrow. You still need to learn to control your shift, if you hope to survive anything you’re trying to achieve.”

“Why did you follow me tonight?” Aelin asked.

Rowan stopped, and turned to face her. “Curiosity, at first,” he admitted. “After all, what could a princess be sneaking out of her home for that she couldn’t do openly? Especially a princess in a situation such as yourself. Whatever it was had to be risky, and part of my task is to make sure you actually survive your training.”

Aelin snorted. “Somehow I doubt that was part of my aunt’s command to you.”

“It’s implied in being assigned as your trainer.”

“And yet blood oaths don’t leave much room for implications,” she drawled, crossing her arms. “So that means you cared, at least a little.”

“Don’t press your luck,” he growled, though his green eyes were softer than she’d seen them before. “With the distance currently between us, my interpretation of her commands is largely at my discretion as long as I don’t directly violate the command. I take it as a point of personal pride that none of my students have gotten themselves killed while I was training them. It’s more than some can say.”

“If you say so,” Aelin grinned. “But if you ask me—”

“Keep going and you’ll be running twice as far tomorrow,” Rowan interjected, crossing his arms with a smirk. “You would do well to remember who’s in charge here.”

Aelin sighed and leaned against the wall they had stopped beside, inspecting his face as she lost herself in thought for a moment. _What will you do now?_ she wondered. _Now that you know what I’ve been up to, will you try to stop me?_

Rowan met her gaze. _Of course not,_ he seemed to reply. _I don’t think what you’re doing will help you the way you want it to, but I have no reason to stop you._

Aelin blinked, startled by the determination she saw in him. _You may not stop me, but are you going to keep following me?_

He quirked an eyebrow in response. _Of course I am. You’ll get yourself killed if you keep this up, one way or another, and a warrior—even a foreign one—can go where a princess dares not tread._

Aelin was surprised enough by that to speak aloud. “You would help me?” she asked. “Even though you disapprove?”

Rowan grinned, expression as fierce as the hawk he could become. “It’s what I was sent to do. To aid you, to whatever end.”

Before Aelin could respond in any way, Rowan was striding in the direction of the training grounds. She watched him leave in stunned silence, staring after him as he left his cloak by the stables and rolled his shoulders in preparation for training with her guard.

She was still staring at the corner around which he had disappeared when Aedion found her a few minutes later. “I saw Whitethorn drilling with the men,” he said by way of greeting. “He give you the day off after that fight you had the other day?”

Aelin nodded absently, knowing that explanation would be far easier than attempting to explain the truth of the matter to her cousin. “That, and the festivities tonight. It wouldn’t do if I had a black eye on my own birthday, would it?”

Aedion laughed. “While we _do_ have healers, I suppose you’re right. Speaking of your birthday, is there a reason you’re dressed in black? I know we’ll be mourning the loss of your independence soon enough, but you’re not betrothed yet.”

“Are you suggesting that he would have a reason to say no?” she asked breezily as she waved a hand at her own figure. “To this, no less?” As her cousin sputtered in response, she grinned. “I’ll wear something much more celebratory tonight, don’t you fret. I _do_ have a prince to woo, after all.”

“He wanted to meet with you after breakfast,” Aedion remarked, tying back his golden hair in preparation for training with his men. “Prince Dorian, that is. I told him you would likely be training your magic, but feel free to correct me. He was visiting the library, last I heard.”

“I suppose I should make time for literature, as I suddenly find my morning quite open,” she grinned. “I’ll change into something more appropriate and then head to the library myself.” She hadn’t slept, of course, and a short nap sounded far better than even spending time in one of her favorite places, but she had a mission and she was more determined than ever to succeed. “I’ll see you later, cousin?”

“Of course,” he replied before wandering off in the same direction Rowan had.

As Aelin began the long walk back to her own rooms, she couldn’t keep the smile off of her face. Anyone who saw her would simply assume it was because of the impending celebrations for her birthday, but she knew better. In one night, she had drastically improved the working relationship between herself and Rowan, and one day she might even be able to call him a friend. If she could forge a connection between herself and someone as unapproachable as the Fae warrior had been, surely she could convince Prince Dorian that it was in their mutual best interest to wed.

Perhaps everything would work out for the best, after all.

* * *

Aelin took a deep breath as she stood before her closet, less than an hour before she was expected to arrive at her own birthday celebration.

She should have been dressed already, most likely, but after a long morning sorting through histories in the library she had rested for longer than she’d intended. And so she stood before her collection of gowns, completely bared, when she should have been putting the final touches on her appearance.

It had been worth it, though. What had started as a light debate had led into searching through the library’s shelves with Prince Dorian for the oldest books and scrolls they could find. She had known, of course, that her kingdom was home to some of the most valued knowledge in existence, but even she hadn’t known just how old some of the works were.

With a small smile for the day’s successes, Aelin returned her attention to her wardrobe. Regent Darrow would likely expect her to show up in something demure, likely in Terrasen’s green and silver. Turquoise and gold to match her eyes would also be on his list of approved selections. But tonight wasn’t about his choices, it was about her own, and so she moved further into her closet and smiled as she found the perfect gown.

As her door opened Aelin grabbed a robe, quickly wrapping it around herself before relaxing at the sound of Lysandra’s voice. “It’s good to see you’re awake, at least,” her friend laughed. “It’s a better start than I was afraid I would get.”

Aelin smiled as she pulled her selected gown out of the closet. “I’m glad your expectations were so low,” she said with a grin. “It means it’ll be easy to impress you.”

Lysandra smiled back as she fully swept into the room, closing the door behind her. She had adopted one of her preferred forms for the evening, Aelin noticed, chestnut curls as perfect as ever and artfully tumbling down her back over a gown the deep burgundy shade of a fine wine. “It’s not me you need to worry about impressing,” she replied, “unless your dear Regent has changed his mind about the qualifications for your suitors.”

“You say that,” Aelin began as she laid out her choice of attire for the evening, “but you know I would never stand in my dear cousin’s way. Has he finally plucked up the nerve to speak to you properly? I know the last time he tried he was looking over his shoulder for days.”

While Aelin would tease Aedion within an inch of his life over his attempts to win Lysandra over, deep down she understood his struggle. Like her, he had Fae blood in his lineage, and while he couldn’t shift forms like Aelin could and he possessed no magic, it had left its mark on him regardless. As with most who had Fae lineage, he was stronger and faster than most humans. She also suspected he possessed the enhanced senses that some spoke of, though Aedion himself had never confirmed this. Most profoundly, though, her cousin apparently had enough Fae blood—or perhaps that part of him was dominant enough—that he had recognized his mate the first time he met Lysandra, the same way Rowan had described the pull toward his now-deceased mate.

While Aedion’s instincts had told him immediately that Lysandra was his mate, as a human Lysandra had no such instincts. While Aelin hadn’t been present for their first proper conversation together, she had heard that her friend had shifted into a ghost leopard and run him off for what Lysandra described as territorial Fae behavior and what Aedion described as perfectly normal conversation. After that, she had informed him in no uncertain terms that mate or no, he would have to earn her trust and affection as anyone else would.

Aelin sighed quietly as she combed through her shortened golden waves. While she absolutely did not envy her cousin the task before him, sometimes she wondered what it would be like to look at someone and just know they were meant to be. It was possible that her own Fae lineage was dilute enough that she would never know. She _did_ know that while she had loved Sam dearly he hadn’t been her mate, not the way Lysandra was Aedion’s and Lyria had been Rowan’s.

Perhaps it was for the best, though. Darrow had shown no signs of budging from his requirement that she marry, and that would only grow complicated if she had an unknown mate to worry about. Her life was complicated enough as it was, she decided. Better to focus on what she could control.

With that in mind, she turned back to Lysandra as her friend finished ranting about whatever Aedion had done that day. “I’m glad you came by,” she said quietly. “I’ll need your help, if I’m going to make the impression I intend to tonight.”

Lysandra’s eyes, today a particularly green shade of hazel, gleamed at the promise of a challenge. “Tell me what you’re looking for.”

As Aelin outlined her plan for the evening, she allowed her mind to wander back to her last shift. She had no intention of asking Rowan to bite her every time she needed to shift, but if she could remember those moments after, when she had recognized the threat and reacted on instinct…

In her mind’s eye Aelin came up to a veil inside herself. A bright light awaited her on the other side, as did the warmth of her flames. She had spent so long shoving this part of herself away, lest the fire burn without her control. It was a risk to let it out tonight, but there were few places safer to show her own strength than at a feast in her own honor. The guest list had been carefully screened by Aedion and his men, and she was positive Rowan would show up at least to say he had put in an appearance. If he deemed it a risk, she knew he would stay and ensure she didn’t burn the entire castle to the ground.

With those reassurances fresh in her mind, Aelin tore a hole through that veil. A flash of light and pain was her reward, but as she felt her features shift she began to smile.

She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, Crown Princess of Terrasen and Heir of Fire, and she would not be afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's not even Tuesday! Enjoy having this a day early. :)
> 
> Really, I just hated leaving things as they were, so rushing this chapter seemed like the best way to mitigate that.
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me this far! I truly appreciate each and every one of you.
> 
> If you're into that kind of thing, I've made a tumblr! Check it out, I'm "imaginedhaven" over there. I'll be crossposting this to tumblr, though right now it's absolutely behind where I am here because I'm trying not to spam the Rowaelin tag. It should be caught up in a couple of days. Feel free to ask me about headcanons, how this version of canon differs from the books, whatever you'd like! Just be patient with me, as I am technologically inept and trying to figure this out like ten years too late. XD
> 
> ~~I may even give snippets upon request, or sneak peeks at what is to come.~~


	6. Chapter Five

Rowan scowled into a glass of wine in the Great Hall of the castle as guests in finery milled around him. Likely anyone who noticed the gesture would simply attribute it to discomfort in such a situation, and that much was partially true. However, he’d had centuries of experience in politics both on and off of battlefields. The dark surcoat he wore now was as much a weapon as his magic, or any of his blades. While not his preferred environment, he could adapt.

No, if Rowan was honest with himself his discomfort was actually rooted in concern. The hour had been sounded several minutes ago, and Aelin had yet to make an appearance at her own event. On any other night he would’ve assumed she had simply made a decision to be fashionably late. Even just a few short days ago, the most he would have thought of it was mild irritation at her apparent lack of concern for the people around her. It was amazing how quickly that had all changed.

For years—centuries, if he was being honest—Rowan had developed a reputation for being a soulless bastard, second in ruthlessness only to his commander. It wasn’t something he had intentionally sought, but he’d had a difficult time finding any reason to change it. His soldiers feared and respected him, and while those he’d trained probably had problems with his methods they had _learned_. The results justified the means, or so he’d thought. Not to mention the fact that if his heart was enclosed in ice of his own making at all times he wouldn’t have to think of all he’d lost through his own actions.

Aelin Galathynius had taken only moments to shatter that wall, and he’d been struggling to maintain it ever since.

Rowan had little patience for romanticizing magic, as those with less experience of it were prone to do. Magic was an ability he had honed into a weapon, and nothing more. But since coming to Terrasen he was increasingly beginning to feel as though embers from the wildfire that burned inside of Aelin had crept underneath his skin. Every minor irritation, cause for a swift correction and nothing more in any other pupil he had trained, burned and lingered for hours or even days. It was part of why he had spent days screaming at her about control—if she could only tame that fire, and keep it to herself, perhaps everything could go back to the way it had been.

Rowan was no longer certain that was what he wanted. There was a lot that he was no longer certain of, if he was being completely honest with himself.

It had been exceedingly uncomfortable, especially at first, existing around this girl—this woman, though by comparison she was still so terribly young. Where he had held himself to the strictest measures of control for so long, aided by the structure of being a warrior and the terms of the oath he had sworn, Aelin was wild and as free as the stags he sometimes encountered on his morning flights through the mountains of her land. He wasn’t certain if it was her example, her wildfire magic and personality to match, or if being so far from his own home had loosened the constraints that had bound him for centuries, but he found himself beginning to resent the conditions of his own existence.

That was fine. That was normal, even. Rowan had hated himself for two hundred and three years, ten months, and twenty-nine days. Resentment was no stranger to him, and he could hold it at bay long enough to do what must be done, kept under a wall of ice and only examined when it was absolutely necessary.

Then he had learned that the fire burning inside of her was fueled by the same pain and loss that had driven him to the point of madness, and all of that changed once again.

It was no longer possible for him to ignore the harm he had unwittingly and uncaringly caused her, belittling her troubles with no thought or care for what they may have been. It didn’t matter that she had done the same to him. As a trainer and a mentor he had set the tone for their interactions, and any harm she had done to him he had invited and welcomed. Gods knew he deserved it.

That was why he had refused treatment for the burns she had given him, if he was being honest with himself. He was still irritated with her for her loss of control, but it had hardly been unprovoked. Gods, he had _bitten_ her in a misguided attempt to provoke her into shifting, and the physical marks she had given him were nothing compared to the taste of fire that still burned through his memory and his senses. She may have reacted, meeting his ice with her wildfire, but in the end it had been his fault.

Now, though, after a few short days that should’ve changed nothing and somehow had changed everything, she was absent from her own event. It concerned him more than he cared to admit, and part of him wondered if perhaps the blame lay at his feet.

He scowled at the stairway to the living quarters again just as her warrior cousin—Aedion, he remembered, and that was a whole _other_ knot he would have to untangle—passed by on one of his rounds around the perimeter. The other male grinned at him, so very like another male Rowan had known for so long that even without his scent he would’ve suspected a relationship of some sort, and when he spoke his words were warm with a friendship Rowan didn’t deserve. “I hate dressing up for these things too, don’t worry,” he said lightly, before dropping his voice low enough that someone without Fae senses would have missed his next words. “I sent Lysandra—my mate—after her. She’ll be all right.”

Rowan counted to ten as he took a long, slow breath to steady himself. “I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, hoping he sounded cool and distant instead of as unsteady as he felt.

The other male smirked. “Oh, so you’re _not_ worried about her at all. You’ll have to try harder than that, Whitethorn, she told me you gave her the day off to recover from whatever the hell you did that had her burning down the fixtures in my training grounds.”

Rowan allowed himself a moment of relief that she evidently hadn’t mentioned the lengthy discussion they’d had the previous night, though he still couldn’t meet Aedion’s gaze—so unnervingly like hers, turquoise ringed in gold that came from their shared Ashryver lineage, if he recalled. “There was no point in training today,” he finally said. “Fire is a difficult element at the best of times, and she would’ve been impossibly distracted today.”

Aedion snorted. “Whatever you say. I won’t tell anyone you’re softer than the stories let on,” he teased.

Rowan was going to respond to that with exactly as much venom as the accusation deserved, but at exactly that moment a door opened and _she_ arrived, and the words died on his tongue.

Even at first glance it was obvious that she knew the same thing he did. Appearances were a weapon to be wielded as carefully and as precisely as any other, and hers was stunning. Vaguely, he recalled that the impetus for his being sent to train her was an event where she had lost control of her powers and burned down a palace gate. Though several months had now passed, it was likely still fresh in the minds of her court, and it would have been natural to present herself accordingly.

If her Regent, savvy as he was, had had any say in the matter Rowan knew she would have been presented as soft and demure and apologetic, every inch the perfect princess. The woman who strode into the hall was no princess, though. No, she was a queen, and the authority she commanded was making his knees alarmingly weak. 

Her golden hair, trimmed back to her shoulders after she had singed the ends of it in their fight, flowed neatly and unbound, broken only by the deceptively delicate points of her ears. Gods, she had shifted just to prove a point, and Rowan grudgingly admired her for it. The circlet she had chosen resembled the flames she could conjure with a moment’s thought, and for a dizzying moment he wondered if she was _actually_ crowned in fire or if it was just a trick of the light.

The gown she had selected had a white bodice and sleeves, and as she turned to say something he couldn’t catch to her friend he noticed the lacing along the back that allowed it to cling to her every curve. The skirts, though, were a swirling assortment of orange and red silks that trailed along the floor behind her and shimmered in the firelight with her every movement.

 _Aelin of the Wildfire,_ he heard someone whisper, and he couldn't help but agree.

He was still staring when her turquoise-and-gold gaze met his, and he didn’t have to know her nearly as well as he did to read the challenge in her eyes and the tilt of her chin. _You thought I would break, didn’t you?_ she seemed to ask.

He shook his head wordlessly in response to the question he was reasonably certain she hadn’t actually asked. No, her struggles and the pain she hid so well had forged her into the woman who stood before him today, stronger than ever.

Her gaze shifted to someone else and Rowan could finally breathe again, heart racing as though he had just stepped off of a battlefield. _Control_ , he reminded himself, and he reached inside himself to feel the swirling ice that lay at his core. To feel anything that wasn’t Aelin’s fire.

The ice became much easier to reach as a dark-haired man approached her, offering his arm with a gesture toward the dance floor. _Dorian Havilliard_ , he vaguely recalled. Crown Prince of Adarlan, and one of her possible matches according to Maeve’s intelligence. What her spies hadn’t yet learned, though, was the strength of the raw magic he could feel running through the man’s core. He supposed that made the prince a better match for her, as someone with strong magic himself would be able to face her with less apprehension.

Aelin laughed and nodded, and as they moved to take the floor he felt the ice rush back in. He had been hoping that he wouldn’t have to act on this part of his mission so soon, but it appeared Aelin had other plans in mind. “I have to go,” he muttered to Aedion, and he quickly strode away from the hall before he could see anything else.

He had already seen enough that he would have to report her likely choice to Maeve, and the less he knew the better.

As he strode out of the palace and into the grounds, he carefully ignored the part of his mind that was asking, _Better for whom?_

* * *

Dorian Havilliard, Crown Prince of Adarlan, was many things, but naive was not among that list. He had been able to tell from the moment he’d been reintroduced to Aelin that she had an agenda in mind, though she hadn’t yet shared it and he had yet to ask. Her selection of outfit for the evening only solidified that thought in his mind, though he indulged her by inviting her to dance regardless.

As they danced, Aelin moving with an almost feline grace around him, Dorian allowed himself to look back on their interactions. It had genuinely been pleasant to have such insight into the famed Library of Orynth, and he knew she had used their time together as an escape from learning to use her magic, but there was another layer to how she was acting as well. It was as if she was testing him, though he couldn’t guess the nature of the test. Her regent was openly watching even now, studying their every move as he had through their reunion upon his arrival to the palace.

As he watched, Aelin glanced over at the regent and then smiled, turning her attention back to him as the song drew to a close. “I don’t believe I ever followed through on showing you our gardens,” she mused. “Perhaps you’d like that tour?”

As an opening it was far from subtle, and if it were anyone else offering Dorian would have immediately been looking forward to a pleasant ending to the evening. With Aelin, though, he was positive that it was as much a test as it had been for her to inquire as to his taste in literature. Still, Dorian let himself smile in response. “I could certainly use the fresh air,” he replied, “and I’m certain you could as well.”

Aelin hummed a wordless answer and drew him away from the crowds. As she mentioned little facts about the trees and shrubs they passed, Dorian began to piece together the information he had gleaned from their meetings.

He had heard the reports of her incident at the palace gates, of course, as he suspected many rulers had. Could she be assessing his opinion of her? It would stand to reason that she would want to know if he viewed her as a potential threat, given the powerful magic she possessed.

Dorian allowed himself a smile at that thought. His own magic, formless as it was, was one of Adarlan’s most carefully-guarded secrets, and only his father and the captain of his guard were aware of its depth. While she had likely guessed that he had the gift, he doubted she had guessed the full extent of his own abilities. While Aelin was powerful, he was reasonably certain he could contain her if he had to, if only for a little while.

She finally led them to a corner of the gardens and turned her turquoise-and-gold gaze to him, and Dorian turned his attention fully to her in turn. The smile she had worn as they walked had faded, and he had a feeling this next conversation would be one of the most important ones during his visit.

“I want to thank you, for visiting,” Aelin began carefully. “It has truly been a pleasure to become reacquainted with you.”

It was time to dig a little deeper, then. Dorian considered his own response, then said, “I agree, though I hardly think you wanted to get me alone simply to thank me.”

A brief flash of guilt in those eyes confirmed Dorian’s suspicions. She was after something from him, and it was up to him to discover what that was. “Perhaps I was simply tired of dancing,” she drawled.

“Perhaps you were,” he allowed. “Or perhaps you wanted to explain why I feel as though my every word has been examined and weighed by you throughout our time together.” It was bold of him to say, certainly, but he had a feeling she appreciated boldness.

A flash of a grin revealed her pleasure in his observation, and he awarded himself a point for gambling correctly. “Oh, good,” she breathed. “This would have been dreadful if you were slow on the uptake.”

It should have been an innocuous phrase, and yet immediately Dorian was relatively certain of her intent. He had been measured after all, but not because she was trying to ascertain how big a threat he perceived her to be.

It was no secret that people of their status rarely formed unions for anything other than perfectly political reasons. His own mother had begun forming lists of eligible ladies and leaving them on his desk months ago, though he had not yet given any thought to settling down. The continual silent interaction between her and her regent made slightly less sense, unless…

There had been rumors, after her incident, that Aelin’s regent had invoked additional stipulations before she could be crowned Queen of Terrasen. Adarlan’s spies had not been able to glean the full details of her situation, but a requirement of marriage was not entirely out of the question. It would appease the lords she would come to rule, to know that her internal fire could be tempered and soothed by another. It would also provide a sense of stability outside of her kingdom as well. Truly, if that was the card her regent had played Dorian could only respect it.

Aelin’s next words confirmed his realizations. “I’m going to be perfectly honest with you out of respect for the friendship I believe we’ve been building during your visit to Terrasen,” she began. “Regent Darrow has invoked a terribly archaic law requiring that I marry before I can inherit my throne. It hasn’t been enforced for generations, and I believe I can talk the other lords around. Theoretically, with their support I could overrule it. But in the meantime, I need to be seen making a good faith effort to comply with his requirements.”

Dorian smiled. “And so you need to go through the motions of a courtship, and you wanted to judge if I would be amenable.”

Aelin responded with a confident grin that he was certain would have shaken a lesser man. “I wanted to judge if _I_ would be amenable,” she corrected. “This would have been truly awful if you were some brute of a prince who couldn’t think his way around the simplest of problems. I don’t think I could have managed to pretend if that were the case.”

Dorian pretended to consider her words for a moment, though he had made up his mind as soon as she had admitted her problem to him. Just as she opened her mouth, likely to attempt to convince him, he relented. “Truth be told, you may have offered the solution to a problem of my own,” he admitted. “Though my parents have given no such requirement, they’re… beginning to talk about possible matches. I had no intention of settling down at this time. However…”

A series of calculations flew across Aelin’s face, and she finally grinned back at him. “If we were to court…”

Dorian nodded. “It would please my parents to learn that I’m at least _trying_ to think of my future, and it would satisfy your own needs as well. We both gain a companion we can at least be friendly towards.”

“And honestly, we could both do worse even if such an arrangement were to stick,” she finished.

“So confident in your own merits,” Dorian laughed.

Aelin grinned, tucking a strand of golden hair behind a pointed ear. “Please,” she replied. “I know who and what I am. Why should I pretend I don’t?”

“I suppose you have a point,” he allowed. “So, since I have no interest in pretending you haven’t planned this down to the last detail, what happens now?”

“Now, we go back to the festivities and start showing interest,” she said. “I’m reasonably certain the next move your parents would want to see is me visiting Adarlan, and I’m absolutely certain I can convince my regent to allow such a visit for the sake of fulfilling his requirements. In the meantime… we act as though we genuinely have an interest in seeing this through.”

Dorian nodded. “I’ll make the arrangements for your visit once I’m back home, and send word once everything is ready. In the meantime, feel free to inform your regent that we’ve agreed to seriously consider your offer.”

Aelin smiled and took his arm once more. “Then you have my thanks. Now, let’s get back to the hall. We have an impression to make.”

As they made their way back into the palace, Dorian wondered if he truly understood what he had agreed to do. At least his life was likely to be less boring, for the next few months at the very least. And even if this had to last…

Well, he could think of worse fates.

* * *

Aedion Ashryver breathed a sigh of relief as the evening drew to a close and the guests began to leave. He hadn’t truly believed there was any greater threat to his beloved cousin than there usually was, of course, and he knew she could take care of herself if need be, but it was always better when everything ran smoothly.

Moreover, he couldn’t recall the last time Aelin had smiled this easily and this often in two years, and whatever the reason, he found himself grateful for it.

His cousin hadn’t told him what it was that had come to pass, but he was no fool. Something had happened to her two years ago, some profound change, and for the longest time thereafter her smile had grown dim and she had thrown herself into training. Where she had learned to wield a knife was another mystery he had yet to solve, but he wasn’t about to be the male to tell Aelin Galathynius what she could or couldn’t do. He'd seen what had happened when Whitethorn had tried, after all, he thought with a grin.

While it concerned him that she felt she had to keep whatever had happened a secret from him, he knew she would tell him if and when she was ready. But he didn’t need to know exactly what it was to see that something had changed for the better over the last several weeks, or to be grateful for the change.

As he pondered everything that could’ve contributed to such a change, Aelin came up beside him and punched him in the arm. “I win,” she declared.

“I wasn’t aware there was a competition,” he replied as he carefully massaged the spot she had hit.

“There’s always a competition, whether you know it or not,” Aelin grinned. “But that’s not the point, the point is that I _win_.”

Aedion laughed and began walking with her back toward her rooms. “All right, all right, stop teasing. What did you win this time?”

As he watched, Aelin put on a show of considering her answer. “Oh, only everything,” she drawled. “You can stop worrying about me and Rowan killing each other during training, first of all.”

Aedion whistled. “I’m impressed,” he admitted. “How’d you manage that?”

“I’m afraid it’s a trade secret,” his cousin replied. “I can’t just tell you how I keep Fae males in line, or it’ll never work on you!”

He shook his head in response, leaning against the wall as they reached the stairway to her rooms. “You said first of all,” he pointed out. “What else did you do?”

All traces of humor left Aelin’s face, and Aedion could feel himself tensing in preparation for her next revelation. “We have a journey to prepare for,” she finally said.

“Cryptic as ever,” he grumbled. “What journey? Where?”

She finally looked up at him, and he fought back a shiver at the fire gleaming in the gold and turquoise of her eyes, so similar to his own. “We’re going to Adarlan,” she revealed. “Well, I am, and I know there’s no stopping you from following me.”

Aedion scowled, knowing and hating that she was right as always. “And why, pray tell, are we going to Adarlan?” he pressed.

“Oh, a few reasons,” she said breezily. “I hear it’s warmer there than in Terrasen, and I wanted to see it for myself. Dorian tells me that their Beltane celebrations are lackluster, and I wanted to mock him endlessly for it. Oh, and he’s agreed to a courtship, so Darrow will be pleased.”

Aedion had been preparing to respond, had had a teasing reply at the ready, only for the words to shrivel and die in his throat at her revelation. “He’s agreed to what?” he managed.

“A courtship, Aedion, do try and keep up. I’m supposed to go to Adarlan and meet his family, so it at least _looks_ like I’m trying to find a husband.”

And there it was. “You aren’t actually going to marry him, then,” he said.

Aelin sighed. “I’ll consider it if I must. He’s not exactly keen on settling down, though. I’m hoping the appearance of a good faith effort will convince the lords to overrule Darrow on that.”

“And the prince knows that’s the plan?” he asked.

“He does. I believe he actually put the pieces together before I asked him, and he says it’ll please his parents as well to see that he’s trying to plan for a future. Then we realize we’re terribly incompatible, we end things, and no one needs be the wiser.”

Gods, but his cousin was devious. It made Aedion grateful that they were as close as they were, and that she didn’t seem to feel a need to manipulate him into compliance. While he had a feeling that she had only told him part of her plan, he knew that he was only one of a trusted few who would know even this much. “I’ll prepare a small team,” he finally said. “Darrow won’t let you go unprotected, but I know it would be in poor taste to march an entire squad of the Bane into Rifthold.”

“You have my thanks,” she murmured in reply. “I know you’ll be there. I’m going to ask Lysandra to come along as well, so I won’t be the only female traveling. You’re all too aware of her ability to defend herself, I believe,” she grinned, and Aedion did flinch that time.

“Very well,” he ground out, though truly he wasn’t sure if he was glad or fearful for Lysandra’s presence on the journey. “And I’m certain Whitethorn would just follow in his hawk form if you left without telling him, so he might as well be invited. Beyond that, we shouldn’t need but one or two more.”

“We would travel faster as just the four of us,” Aelin countered. “And I believe two magic users, a shapeshifter, and two soldiers should be more than sufficient for my protection, don’t you?”

It was a painfully loaded question, and Aedion knew Aelin knew it. Rather than answer, he playfully shoved at her shoulder. “Very well, but _you_ get to be the one to sell it to Darrow. _And_ you have to ask Whitethorn yourself,” he added.

“Why?” she asked, a playful gleam in her eyes. “You said it yourself, he’d only follow us anyway.”

Aedion snorted. “It won’t be me he brawls with for that decision,” he pointed out. “If you want to provoke him, that’s on you.”

The grin Aelin gave him then was nothing short of feral, and he took a moment to ponder the utility of prayer on Whitethorn’s behalf. Ultimately he decided the warrior would likely only be insulted by Aedion’s lack of faith in his abilities, but when she finally answered he wondered if perhaps he ought to rethink that conclusion. “Provoking him adds excitement to his dreadfully dull immortal life,” she declared. “He ought to thank me for my thoughtfulness.”

And before Aedion could offer any words of caution about provoking Fae males in general and Fae warriors in specific, Aelin darted up the stairs that led to her rooms, out of his sight. He turned with a sigh, one hand running through his golden hair as he walked away. 

He could’ve followed her, certainly, and continued to argue his point. However, he had long since learned that when Aelin made up her mind about something she was very unlikely to be convinced otherwise. Asking her to consider not antagonizing Whitethorn would simply be a waste of his breath.

He did have to wonder, though, why she was so much more excited about needling an immortal soldier than she was about progressing further toward meeting the conditions to inherit her throne. Aedion sighed and shook his head. That would have to be another problem for another day. Right now, he evidently had a journey to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got to about halfway through Chapter Seven and decided I just couldn't wait any longer to share some happier words with you all. Well, happy-ish.
> 
> As mentioned last chapter, I'm on tumblr! Check me out at imaginedhaven over there, and feel free to ask me pretty much anything!
> 
> Most of all, thank y'all so much for sticking with me this far.


	7. Chapter Six

After her birthday, Aelin’s days settled into something resembling a routine. In the mornings, she would train with Aedion and his men. Sometimes she would bring her knives, and more rarely she convinced Aedion to give her another lesson in hand-to-hand fighting. During these morning lessons she retained her human features and senses, in part out of fairness to the men and in part to make certain that if for some reason she was unable to shift, she would not be defenseless.

Her afternoons were filled with training in magic. Though it wasn’t strictly required in order to wield her power, Rowan required her to shift at the start of every lesson.

“Is it because you enjoy seeing someone else with pointy ears?” she had dared to ask once. “It can’t be because of the magic, there are plenty of humans without a drop of Fae blood who can use magic.”

Rowan had simply bared his fangs and growled in response, and she had decided that it wasn’t yet worth pressing her luck. Their newfound lack of animosity was tenuous enough already.

They hadn’t yet discussed any further what had been shared between them that night he had chased her down. Aelin wasn’t certain there was much point in bringing it up. For all of his posturing during their lessons, now that she knew she could see the glimmer of pain that would likely always reside in those pine-green eyes, but he never once acted as though he was in any way affected. If she asked directly, she was only likely to get a barked command to try to light yet another candle.

Perhaps it was a shield, the casual air of cool distance he kept about him so often. If it was, Aelin knew better than to press past it unnecessarily. If he wanted to talk, he would.

Instead, Rowan had crafted what seemed to be an increasingly infuriating series of challenges for her to overcome. Their first lesson after she had finally shifted he had set a candle in front of her on the ground and ordered her to light it. Instead, she had exploded it, and Rowan had needed to quickly smother a ring of fire two feet around where it had once been.

Several weeks and countless lectures about control later, it had become evident that bigger tasks came to her more easily. Of course, Rowan hadn’t allowed her to remain content with that. One candle became two, and two became four, and she would have to focus her entire will on only lighting one of them at a time.

She attempted to practice when she could outside of their lessons as well, but it was difficult to find a place within the palace to work. Most of the inhabitants got understandably nervous while she was playing with fire beside them. And so she settled for the slow improvement she was seeing under Rowan’s training.

She knew she had grown complacent when she felt a glimmer of surprise as she watched the Fae warrior striding toward where she was warming up for another session with Aedion. “I thought we weren’t meeting until after lunch,” she called in place of a greeting.

“You thought wrong,” he replied. “You focus better during your combat lessons. Today, we combine them.”

“You _want_ me to throw fire at you,” Aelin deadpanned as she fought yet another wave of shock.

He grinned in response, chin lifting. _Do you think I can’t handle a little heat, Aelin Fireheart?_ his posture screamed.

Her eyes narrowed. _As long as you remember that you asked for it_ , she thought as she settled into a more open stance and shifted.

Before she could do anything else, a cool breeze blew around them both. A shield, she realized, and this time the surprise she felt was more pleasant.

He nodded, eyes gleaming with satisfaction at her recognition. _Nothing will get through that,_ she read in his expression. _Do your worst._

She glanced down at her hands, remembering the feel of a knife against her palm. If she could create fire, and if Rowan was so convinced that she could influence its shape as well, perhaps she could…

A dagger of flame appeared in her right hand, and she grinned as she inspected it more closely. It was light, almost impossibly so, but the fire did not burn her hand. She took a chance and flicked her wrist in a motion that would’ve sent an actual knife into the targets Aedion had set up, focusing all her will on recalling how the blade would fly and slice through the air.

The blade of fire collided with the hard air of Rowan’s shield and dissipated, just over the bullseye of the target.

The pleasure she felt at her success was matched by the brightness of his eyes as he looked on. Before she could say anything, though, he had crafted a blade of ice and was deftly twirling it around his fingers. “You handled a blade well enough,” he called. “But what is the first lesson of any competent combat instructor?”

Before she could open her mouth to reply the ice dagger was sailing through the air, directly toward her face.

Aelin growled, and her flames sprung up around her, clinging like a second skin. The blade Rowan had thrown spluttered and melted a scant fraction of an inch from slicing her cheek.

She glared up at him, only to see he was smirking. “Sloppy,” he said dismissively, “and wasteful. You’ll burn out too quickly if you don’t control your shielding. Small, precise, and controlled, like an actual shield you would wield.”

With a snarl she sent a blade of her fire at him, growling when he didn’t even lift a hand to alter its path just enough to miss him entirely. _Please_ , he seemed to say. _I’ve been doing this for centuries, and you started a few short weeks ago_.

Two more knives of ice hurtled in her direction, and she thought several foul names for him as loudly as she could as she rushed to summon a shield. This one was smaller, but the edges were frayed and ragged, and she began to sweat from a combination of the effort of maintaining it and the heat. _Better?_

He lifted a single silver eyebrow in response. _Keep trying. You might get somewhere eventually._

She threw the whole shield at him this time, taking advantage of his surprise to throw herself along the path the circle of fire had cleared. He blocked her first swing, but flames kissed the edges of her boots as she swept her foot across his legs and knocked him down for the first time since the day she’d first shifted for him.

Aelin pressed her advantage and pinned him down, fire twining around his wrists before she gasped at the feel of an icy breeze running along the back of her neck. With a smirk he threw her off of himself and froze manacles of ice around her forearms. She grinned back, melting the ice with nothing more than a thought, and launched herself back at him with a shout.

* * *

They sparred for another hour or so before Rowan called a halt to it, picking himself up off the ground and then extending a hand down for her. As she took it, the shield around them dissipated and the sound of a whistle pierced the air. A glance around revealed Aedion as the offender, having obviously gathered with several of his men to observe.

Aelin took one step toward him and gasped as her knees buckled. Before she could hit the ground, though, something solid and warm wrapped around her and pressed her into something even more solid and warm, and she dimly realized that Rowan must have caught her before she could fall.

The slight chill still lingering at his fingertips and the scent of snow on the air despite the relatively warm late spring day confirmed her suspicions, and she glanced up at him. “Thanks,” she muttered.

“You’re not used to expending that much energy over an extended period of time,” he said rather than directly responding. “And you didn’t have time to pull it out properly. Honestly, I shouldn’t have let it go on as long as I did. You’ll be fine once you eat something, but if we’d gone too much longer you would’ve risked burning out.”

“That sounds… painful,” she managed as he led her back toward the palace.

“If you extend yourself that far, it will kill you,” he replied. “It will tear you apart inside, and then kill you. If you had prepared in advance of this, tunneled into your power, you could have lasted longer. This is far from the limit of your power.”

“Careful, now,” she teased. “Did it hurt, to compliment me like that?”

His silence was answer enough for Aelin as he pulled her into the kitchen and sat her down, thrusting a bowl of broth into her hands with a wordless command to eat. Still, though, she tried one more time to provoke a reaction out of him. “It’s lucky no one else is around,” she said. “If someone were to see this, they might almost think that you care, and we can’t have that. It’ll ruin your image as a soulless Fae bastard.”

A single silver eyebrow quirked up, but Aelin cheered internally as she saw the faintest glimmer of a grin on his face. “I’ve told you before,” he replied, “I haven’t lost a student during their training yet. It’s a point of personal pride. Nothing to do with you, though I appreciate your concern for my image.”

“Speaking of your image, perhaps you can answer something for me,” Aelin said as she stirred the broth he’d given her. “Aedion’s the one who heard all the storied before you arrived, and there’s one I simply couldn’t believe. He says you once killed a man with a table.”

“Of all the stories your cousin could’ve shared, that’s the one you didn’t believe?” he asked incredulously.

“It just seems so unlikely. What did you do, squash him like a grape?”

His expression turned into a feral grin, one that reminded Aelin very suddenly that she was speaking with someone who had been honing warrior skills and instincts for centuries. “No,” he said, pine-green eyes gleaming. “I tore off the leg of the table and stabbed him with it.”

Aelin deliberately yawned into her broth. “Oh,” she said lightly. “That sounds much less exciting. I think I prefer the way Aedion told it.”

As Rowan sat beside her at last, his posture seemed to say _t_ _he truth is rarely as glamorous as the stories that are told. Surely you know this._

Aelin shrugged and finally turned her attention fully to the broth, letting out a soft sound of surprise as she realized how hungry she truly was.

Though he didn’t overtly react, the warrior’s eyes were full of laughter. _I told you you needed to eat._

 _Overprotective Fae male bastard_ , she thought with a scoff. _It’s lucky for you I know you’re all like this._

If he responded to her play at nonchalance, or even considered responding, she missed it entirely as she devoured the broth before her. Finally, his voice filtered into her awareness. “You’ll need to eat more than you have been, as we begin working with your magic,” he was saying. “Although your magical ability isn’t decided by your physical strength, how you take care of yourself does have an impact. As you drain your magic, you’ll likely feel a drain on your energy as well.”

“Great. Just wonderful. So I can expect to have two overprotective males hovering instead of one,” she teased.

Rowan stiffened beside her, and she could tell she had unintentionally touched on a point of discomfort. “It is… instinctive, for many Fae—yes, mostly males, stop giving me that look—to be on edge around someone they perceive to be vulnerable to threat, real or imagined. There’s also a cultural element to it, at least where I come from. With you, it helps that you seem to know how to handle yourself even when your magic is drained. That said, it is _very_ difficult—”

“No,” Aelin interrupted.

“No?” he repeated, obviously confused.

“If you’re about to apologize to me for something so deep in your nature, I’m not interested in hearing it,” she explained. “You certainly haven’t apologized for being a bastard, why should I ask or expect you to apologize for being a hovering buzzard?”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she continued before he could. “You’re not human, Rowan. Anyone who expected you to act like one would be in for a surprise. That being said, I absolutely reserve the right to be annoyed if this keeps up, because it’s in _my_ nature to take care of myself. But I won’t apologize for that, and you don’t apologize for your own nature. Am I clear?”

Pine-green eyes gleamed within his tan face, though with what she couldn’t say. She narrowed her own eyes at his continued silence until he managed a nod in reply. “Good,” she smiled. “Because things were going to be terribly awkward if we went on our trip with you still acting like this.”

She realized her mistake as soon as the light in those eyes turned into ice. “What trip?” he growled.

Aelin laughed, buying herself more time to gauge his reaction. “Trip? Did I say trip?”

He snarled. “Aelin. _What. Trip?_ ”

One of the most important lessons for warriors and assassins and rulers alike was knowing when one was outmatched. Sometimes a tactful retreat was the correct response, rather than pressing onward into certain defeat.

At least, that was what Aelin told herself as she fled up the stairs of the palace, followed closely by a Fae male snarling curses at her all the way.

* * *

Several days later the formal invitation from Adarlan arrived, and before Aelin knew it they were riding toward the border at a brisk pace. She surveyed the small clearing they’d found with a grin as the sun began to set. “Do you remember the last time we were allowed to go camping, cousin?” she asked.

“I’m surprised you remember it, as young as you were,” he grinned as he began to gather wood for a fire.

“Please, you’re only five years older than me.”

“That matters a lot more when one of you is five,” he retorted.

Aelin sighed and laid back against her bedroll. All right, so it had been a long time since she was allowed to go on a trip like this. Likely, Darrow assumed they would be staying in hotels most of the way, and he was right for the most part. However, at the pace they intended to set it was impossible to completely avoid camping as they cut through the wilderness between Orynth and Rifthold.

A pair of knee high leather boots entered her vision, and she frowned as she looked up to meet Rowan’s gaze. “Did you need something, Buzzard?” she asked.

Either he had still been upset with her for the way she had told him about their journey or he had missed stretching his wings, for Rowan had spent the majority of the day flying ahead of them as the white-tailed hawk whose form he could take. Aedion had joked about her driving the male into an animal form until Lysandra had grinned and shifted into a ghost leopard. He had been noticeably paler and quieter after that.

As she sat up, Rowan inclined his head toward the pile of wood Aedion had gathered. “Light a fire.”

Aelin frowned. “Are you certain that’s a good idea?”

A cool breeze scented with the pine and snow she associated with her homeland blew around them, and Rowan met her gaze with a fierce grin. “I think we’ll be safe enough,” he replied.

She sighed and reached a hand out toward the pile of logs, only to have it smacked away. When she glared at him, he only smirked. “It’s a crutch. You don’t need it,” he declared.

“Maybe I like the dramatic effect,” she huffed, but obediently she wrapped her arm around her knees instead and began to focus on the logs.

“Easy,” he muttered by her ear. “Control. Only take as much as you need, and no more.”

Aelin gasped in a breath of the cool air that was still flowing around them and examined the well of power that was slowly becoming more familiar to her. Surely it would only take a little to start the fire, and so she imagined just a small thread coming out of that well…

The fire lit, and she grinned in satisfaction.

“Good,” came Rowan’s voice beside her. “Keep it going.”

“How long?” she asked, already beginning to sweat with the effort needed to restrain the rest of that well.

“For as long as I say,” he smirked.

Aelin grumbled at his typical lack of a specific guideline, but focused on the flames regardless. They were almost hypnotic, with the way the reds and oranges and yellows swirled and with the way the individual flames danced and swayed together. With Rowan around to contain her should something go terribly wrong, she was able to let go of some of her fear of the power she wielded and appreciate the beauty of it all.

As she watched, she idly wondered if she would be able to create fire that did not burn. Perhaps another time, though, as this fire needed to be able to cook the fish Lysandra was busy catching from the nearby stream. Instead, she worked to manipulate the height of the flames, first coaxing it down nearly to embers and then working up a bonfire nearly as tall as Aedion.

“Easy,” Rowan hissed as the flames licked higher, but Aelin was lost to the beauty, mesmerized by the rhythms she could see in the movements. She swayed with them until a cool arm wrapped around her, pulling her into a body that was equally cool, and she suddenly realized that she was burning like her fire. No, she was her fire, and he was his ice, and she nestled closer with a contented moan at the temporary relief from the heat.

“Aelin, that’s enough,” she heard distantly. “Let go.”

Why should she let go? She was one with the flames, and they were beautiful, swirling together in a stunning and glimmering dance. As she watched they danced higher, and she shifted to work out a twinge in her lower back before going back to swaying with the fire.

 _Aelin_. Was the voice in her imagination now, or was Rowan actually speaking? _Aelin, stop this now. Let go_. He sounded so worried, but she couldn’t find the words to tell him to stop fussing. Couldn’t find any words at all, actually. All she could do was hold on.

A distant sigh carried the scent of pine and snow to her, and she sighed in relief at its familiarity but still couldn’t look away from the beauty of her creation. “Forgive me,” said a voice beside her, though she could hardly focus on it.

Before long, she couldn’t focus on anything but gasping as the air was pulled away from her. She choked on nothing, hands going to her throat, but still she clung to the tether between herself and the fire. Why it seemed so important, she couldn’t say, she just knew that all would be lost if she let go now.

Darkness encroached on her vision, though, and without the air she couldn’t hold on. Distant shouts rang in her ears as the tether slipped away from her and she fell away into the shadows.

She must have only been gone for a moment, as when she opened her eyes the fire was merrily crackling without her aid, but she realized with horror that something must have gone terribly wrong.

She was burning inside, and not even the cool of Rowan’s wind was enough to stop it.

* * *

Rowan let out several curses in both the common tongue and the Old Language as Aelin collapsed into him. She was burning up, overly hot to the touch, and dimly he realized she must have overextended herself. She had lost control of her magic, to the point where words had been unable to reach her and he’d had to forcibly break her connection to their campfire. Who knew how much power she had let flow into the flames?

It was too much, that much was evident from the flush of her cheeks and the arch of her back in combination with the heat emanating from her.

Quickly, he worked to remove the leather jerkin she’d worn for their ride, not stopping as her cousin let out a startled cough. “What are you _doing_?” Aedion demanded, torn between confusion and anger.

“She’s burning up,” Rowan snapped. “She lost control and used too much, and she needs to get cool _now_ or…” He didn’t let himself think of the possible consequences.

Not even the removal of the heavy leather from her frame was enough, he realized, nor was the breeze. He didn’t dare remove the cotton tunic and trousers she wore, not with her demi-Fae cousin looking on and already on edge. But there was a stream nearby, and if he could freeze the water around her… Yes. That was their best chance at getting her through this.

Without a second thought he scooped her into his arms, gritting his teeth as she moaned and buried her face against his chest. How had he let this happen? One moment she was leaned against him, face upturned into the breeze he was directing to blow past them, and the next…

He should have been keeping a closer eye on her, he admonished himself as he ran for the stream. He knew she was largely untrained, and liable to lose control, and he hadn’t been watching closely enough for the signs.

The stream had been near the camp to begin with and he was quick to reach it as she burned in his arms, wading in with her without a moment’s hesitation and hissing as steam began to rise around them. Before she could raise the temperature of the water dangerously high he quickly froze what was coming into contact with her, only for her to melt his ice almost immediately.

He growled in frustration and froze the area again. This was his fault, and it was up to him to help her through this. He would not— _could not_ —fail now.

Once they got through this—for she _would_ come through this and be all right, he would not accept any other option—he would give her the lecture of her mortal life about control and recognizing the signs of a burnout. Gods, they had just talked about this potentiality a few short days ago, only for her to be in this position now. He knew, though, that it was ultimately his fault. He could’ve better explained the signs, he could’ve watched more closely, he could’ve cut her off before she reached this point…

A litany of his own shortcomings as a teacher raced through his mind as he struggled against the heat she was generating, freezing the water again and again before she could boil them both. A crashing noise emanated from the bank—her cousin or his mate, no doubt, come to observe. He didn’t even glance in their direction as he growled a warning. He couldn’t be certain if his growl or the steam she was still generating was what decided it, but whoever had joined them remained blessedly silent as he continued to work.

Sweat gathered on his brow as he continued to focus as much as he could on bringing her temperature down, nearly-blind panic lending him strength. The extreme shifts in temperature she was experiencing would likely be deeply unpleasant for her, and she would hurt the next day, but he was no healer and had only limited resources at his disposal. She could hate him later, as long as she survived this.

Each time he froze the water his ice lasted a little longer before melting away, and finally the water stayed cool around them. Aelin remained flushed, eyes unfocused and overly bright, but she was no longer burning in her own skin. She wasn’t all the way back to a normal temperature, likely wouldn’t be for several more minutes at least, but she was no longer in immediate peril and so Rowan allowed himself a single moment of relief.

Her turquoise-and-gold gaze finally landed on her face. “What…?” she began to ask, voice hoarse.

“You almost burned out,” he managed, carefully not allowing himself to wonder just how close she had come to the edge of her power. “How are you feeling?”

Aelin shivered, though the flush remained high on her cheeks. “Awful,” she admitted.

“That’s to be expected, I’m afraid.” Rowan carefully directed a cool breeze to blow across her face, eyes closing for a moment as it wafted the scent of hot embers and floral jasmine into his awareness. “Are you in danger of flaring up again?” he asked as he redirected his attention to watching her face.

Aelin’s eyes fluttered shut, obviously taking stock of her own state of being. “No,” she managed, another hint of steam escaping from her as she breathed. “No, it’s still… but it’s getting better.”

Carefully, Rowan pulled her further into the stream, enough to tilt her head back and allow the cold water to flow into her hair for one more point of contact with something cool. His chest and arms cried out at the sudden cold, and he dimly realized she must have burned him while he was getting her to the water. It was much milder than the first time she had burned him, though. He would have endured far worse if it meant getting her to safety. “You’re still too warm, and you’re going to feel this tomorrow,” he warned her. Already he could feel the urge to take her away somewhere safe, keep her comfortable and protected while she recovered. She would be largely useless for another day or two as her magic replenished, likely too weak and sore to even hold one of the knives she loved so well.

Rowan quickly did his best to tamp down on the instincts now screaming at him to bundle her into a cave or whatever small room they could find on the road. _It’s not my place_ , he reminded himself, though the words rang hollow even in his own mind.

Aelin sighed and shivered again, the flush of her cheeks finally fading to something more normal. “Thank you,” she breathed. “If you hadn’t cut me off from the fire, I…”

He hissed softly. “I pushed you too far. You should’ve told me you were so close to your limits, though.”

She grimaced. “I’m in for one hell of a lecture tomorrow, aren’t I?”

He gave her a glare in response that he hoped said something along the lines of _you’d better believe you’re in for a lecture_. 

Aelin sighed, curling around herself. “I suppose I deserve that. I thought everything was fine, it all happened so fast.”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he said quietly. “Right now, I just want you focused on recovering. Let me know when this gets too cold, and we’ll get you out of the water.”

A moment of discomfort crossed her face, then. Before he could ask her what was wrong, she fisted a hand in his shirt. “Aedion,” she managed. “If I go back to the camp like this, if he sees me struggling into dry clothes, he’ll panic. I’ve already got you to deal with, I want him to be as calm as we can keep him.”

He nodded. It was a reasonable enough worry, after all, for this girl who was surrounded by males with Fae ancestry. “I’ll head back first, then, bring your bag back here.” He carefully didn’t tell her that her cousin was likely already on edge, instead moving her closer to the shore and making sure she would stay put before climbing out of the water himself.

He grimaced as the wind of his own shield around the camp came into contact with his shirt, before calling a stronger wind to dry his own clothing out as much as possible. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do for now.

As he’d suspected, Aedion was impatiently awaiting their return, pacing around the fire. “Where is she?” he demanded.

“In the stream, cooling off,” Rowan replied. “She asked me bring her bag to the shore. Something about overprotective Fae males.”

It was clearly something he had heard her say before, judging by his laugh and the hand that carded through his own golden hair. “She’s been telling me off for it since we were children,” Aedion said, confirming his suspicions. “If she’s good enough to yell at you about it, that’s good enough for me. We should reach the next town tomorrow, unless…”

Rowan shook his head. “She’s not going to move anywhere fast tomorrow. It’ll likely be the day after.”

Aedion nodded slowly. “I’d rather spend less time out in the open, but if she can’t make it she can’t make it. We’ll adapt.”

Rowan nodded and grabbed Aelin’s bag. As he headed back toward the stream, he took a deep breath and allowed a part of himself to sink into the well of wind and ice at his core.

If they were to be on the road for longer than expected, with Aelin almost entirely defenseless, they would need all the help they could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all so much for reading!


	8. Chapter Seven

Aelin woke up surrounded by a comforting warmth and burrowed into the feeling with a happy little moan. She hadn’t remembered her bedroll being this comfortable, but she was grateful for it nonetheless. The scent of pine and snow lingered in the air, meaning that while they had departed for Adarlan they hadn’t yet reached the border, and as her eyes fluttered open a pale shirt came into sight—

Wait. A shirt. She wasn’t alone.

She bolted upright, grimacing as her head and her muscles responded to the motion with a fierce ache.

A dry voice sounded above her, though amusement was woven into the soft lilting accent. “I see you’ve finally decided to grace the waking world with an appearance.” Gods, what had happened, that she felt so awful and that Rowan had stayed with her rather than return to his own bedroll across the campsite?

As memory came rushing back in, she let out a soft whimper. She had trained again, and lost herself to the fire that burned inside of her. A fire that was currently mere embers, an internal look revealed. “Are you mocking me?” she asked, trying for a lighthearted tone but sounding raspy and exhausted even to her own ears. “I feel as if you’re mocking me.”

Green eyes met hers, obviously examining her face, though a part of him seemed distracted and hidden away. “And if I am?”

Aelin attempted to stretch, hissing at the lingering pain running through her. “I may have to let you get away with it, today. I probably deserve worse.”

“Let this pain be a lesson for you,” he replied, “though I wish you didn’t have to experience it. When you lose control like that, when the magic owns you rather than you using the magic, it’s all too easy to burn out. You almost went far enough that we couldn’t have brought you back.”

“How long was I asleep?” she asked.

“Six hours. It’s only a little after dawn now.” As she watched, he looked around the campsite. Aedion was packing his and Lysandra’s things, casting occasional concerned glances in their direction, but thus far he remained silent.

“You sound distracted,” she commented. “What’s on your mind? I know you promised a lecture—”

“Maybe later,” he said quietly, as though he were much farther away than he actually was. “We’re not likely to make it to the next town on time, not with you as badly off as you are. I’m doing what I can to make sure we won’t be defenseless.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. She turned to face him properly, though she couldn’t yet bear to completely move away, so they were left with her legs tucked neatly against his.

“How does it feel,” he asked instead, “when you access your power? Where is it stored?”

Aelin frowned and cast her gaze inwards once more. “Like… a well,” she replied. “Like it’s all sitting in a well, or it would be, if I hadn’t…”

Rowan nodded. “The depth of that well is what differs between magic users, in addition to the actual contents. Some have very little magic, and can access most of their power at once. No matter what you’re thinking now, yours goes deeper. You’re drained now because your magic controlled you, and you didn’t—couldn’t—take the time to access it correctly, to pull it up from that well one piece at a time.”

“That’s what you’re doing now, isn’t it?” she realized.

Another nod, this one more absent. “You’ll take several days at least to be back to full strength. One of us needs to be ready to react if necessary. I can still do other things, but… a piece of me is there, drawing it up.”

“How long will it take?” she asked, curious.

She was met with a raised eyebrow. “That depends on the strength of the magic user,” he said.

“That’s not an answer.”

He chuckled, then, and a thrill went through her at the sound. It had taken weeks, but she had finally managed to coax an actual laugh out of the stoic warrior. “Some take hours. I take a full day.”

So his magic was as powerful as the rest of him. Of course it was. Aelin still had questions, though. “And when it runs out, I presume that only time will allow it to come back?”

“Correct, for the most part,” he replied. “The only other way is to take from your _carranam_ using a blood connection, if you’re lucky enough to have found yours.”

“ _Carranam_?” she repeated, something in her uncoiling in pleasure at the way the Old Language word felt to speak.

“It’s a rare bond, and most never find one. Just like mating bonds, only _carranam_ are compatible magically rather than…” The sentence trailed off, but she understood well enough where it had been going to nod in reply. “It’s a risky move, though, and one that requires a great deal of trust. It’s easy for your _carranam_ to take too much from you, and then you have _two_ magic users burning out instead of one. Even if someone suspects, they’re more likely than not to never test the bond.”

If burning out felt anything like what Aelin was going through, she understood entirely, and said as much. “Did you ever find someone you trusted enough?” she asked.

Rowan shook his head. “I haven’t suspected such a bond in any of the people I usually work with. We work well enough together, but working well together has little to do with magical compatibility in that regard.”

Aelin hummed her understanding and moved to stand, only to have a large tattooed hand come down on her shoulder. “Don’t we have to move soon?” she demanded as Rowan stood instead.

“Ideally, yes,” he replied, “but you would’ve simply fallen down again had I let you stand unaided.”

Aelin groaned. Stupid overprotective hovering Fae males and their territorial protective instincts. Really, it was a wonder Aedion was managing to pack up the camp and not directly offering her assistance as well. Perhaps Lysandra had something to do with it, or perhaps he and Rowan had come to some kind of understanding in the night.

Still, she took his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. Ordinarily, she would’ve argued her point further, but given the tremble she felt in her knees she grudgingly had to admit Rowan had a point.

* * *

As night began to fall around them once more, Aedion bit back a soft growl. They still had several miles to go before the next town, but now that night had fallen their odds of booking a room were slim at best. They could push further and exhaust Aelin even more than she already had been, but in all likelihood even if they did that they would still be spending a night among the trees and stars.

They had been traveling along the edge of the Oakwald Forest, though the way was slightly longer than sticking to the coast. While the Regent would likely have preferred the coastal route, Aedion knew these lands better than he knew the coastline and would be able to take them from town to town on their way down to Rifthold. Aelin had been thrilled at the prospect of camping, and Lysandra had simply been glad to get away from the palace for a little while.

At the thought of her, he looked to the head of their party where a ghost leopard was bounding along beside a white-tailed hawk. While she would never have said as much to Aelin, she had admitted to him on occasion that she grew tired of being within the palace walls. While it had been easy to bring her along in the role of Aelin’s stylist and handmaiden, the role she had assumed when Aelin had first brought her to the palace a little over two years prior, Aedion realized he would’ve fought to bring her along anyway.

She would never mention the looks she got around the palace, both as a shapeshifter and as someone who had once worked out of the alleyways in the city, but Aedion noticed them. It took more restraint than he cared to admit to let her handle the situation as she saw fit, but he knew attempting to fight her battles for her would only result in something large, fanged, and clawed visiting him in the night. It had already happened on more than one occasion, and waking up to a ghost leopard or a massive bear standing over him was not an experience he cared to repeat.

And so he bit his tongue and he exercised all of the control he had learned from Aelin’s father, and he let his mate fight her own battles because he knew she wouldn’t have it any other way. It didn’t sit quite right with his instincts, but those instincts hadn’t been fine-tuned to human mates. Her happiness was worth more than his pride, and it had been from the moment he’d seen her.

Aelin hissed in her saddle, one hand going to her side, and the hawk immediately flew back to her side before Whitethorn shifted back into his Fae form. She moved to wave him off, but accepted the chunk of bread he pulled out of a bag and shoved at her.

_That_ had been a surprise, Aedion thought with a smile as he watched his cousin accept being fussed over for what was probably the first time in her life. Ordinarily he would’ve tried, and they would’ve likely scrapped about it, but as he watched he realized that the older warrior fussing over her instead felt… right, somehow.

As they came to a stop for the night, the ghost leopard approached him and morphed back into the face Lysandra usually wore. “So tell me,” she said as she tucked a chestnut curl behind an ear “is there a reason you’re not over there growling at Rowan for existing too close to her?”

Aedion shook his head with a smile. “It doesn’t work like that,” he insisted. “She’s my cousin. He’s more than capable of making her eat, and she may be my family but she’s not _mine_.” _Not like you are,_ he let himself think, though he knew it would be dangerous to say aloud.

Her eyes lit up. “Wait, do you think…?” She stopped talking and he knew it was so the others wouldn’t hear her, though her gestures made clear what she was asking.

He allowed himself to glance over at his cousin and her trainer once again, this time taking in the hand she had placed on his shoulder and that he hadn’t removed. He watched the way she laughed and then grimaced, and the way he helped her sit against a tree and growled something he couldn’t quite hear, concern clear across his features.

“I’m not sure,” he finally said, “but whatever’s going on, he’s managing her better than anyone ever has. I’m not about to get in the way of that.”

Indeed, he had a feeling that anyone who ventured too close right now would meet an unpleasant fate. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Lysandra’s waist and smiled when she allowed him to pull her in close.

A soft hissing sound from the edge of the forest immediately set him on edge, and as he narrowed his eyes and focused on the spaces between the trees he froze.

They were not alone.

A quick look to Whitethorn confirmed that he had heard it as well, and soon the warrior was hauling Aelin away from the trees and closer to them so they could survey the threat together. “I’m not familiar with the creatures that haunt your lands,” he admitted. “What can you see?”

“It’s strange,” Aedion replied, gaze fixed on the long limbs he could see moving in the trees. “If we were closer to the mountains I would say these are Stygian spiders, but they don’t usually come this far—”

One of the creatures finally broke through the treeline, and Aedion cut himself off as he saw the horse-sized spider emerge, a cruel gleam in its eyes.

* * *

It didn’t take centuries of military experience to know they were outmatched, Rowan realized as he watched the threat unfold before them. If his count was correct, a dozen of the spiders were waiting in the line where the trees began to grow thin, and there were only four of them. Aedion was a warrior through and through, senses enhanced by his Fae heritage. He wasn’t certain of the shifter’s abilities, but from the way she held herself he could tell she would go down fighting rather than running. The problem was Aelin, and it didn’t take long to realize that at all.

Aelin was standing beside him unaided, but a hand still pressed against her side and pain was still strong in her expression. He had done his best to make sure she was cared for on their journey, but it had only been a day since she had almost burned herself out. It would likely be another two before she was feeling anything close to normal again, and it would be dangerous for her to draw on her own power.

He had pulled up most of his own magic at this point, but he was only one warrior, and he wasn’t certain of this enemy’s weaknesses. With that in mind, he turned back to Aedion. “Assuming you’re correct,” he said, quick and quiet, “what do you know about these creatures?”

“If I’m right, most of what I know is wrong,” the warrior replied as he quickly bound back his golden hair. “Stygian spiders don’t usually venture outside the mountains. They stay there, and barter their silk to those foolish enough to bargain away years of their life, or other intangible gifts.”

Magical creatures, then, and creatures that lived at a high altitude. It was unlikely efforts to choke the air away from them would be met with any amount of success. Ice and blades it would have to be. “Somehow, I don’t think these are here to bargain,” he said.

“I think you’re right,” Aedion agreed, and then the first spider was upon them, pincers snapping. A blast of frigid wind knocked it back, but Rowan could tell that the setback would only be temporary at best. These creatures were fast, faster than they had a right to be, and winds would only delay them and drain him.

A glance at the hardened shells of the creatures told him ice would be equally ineffective. He could trap them, certainly, but they would inevitably get free, and he couldn’t be certain they wouldn’t track him or anyone else in the group.

He spared a moment to glance to his left, toward Aedion and his mate. The shapeshifter was obviously sizing up the threat, likely trying to decide the form that would deal the most damage to these creatures. He hoped for her sake that she settled on something with reach and sharp fangs or claws. Aedion himself had drawn a sword and positioned himself between the creatures and the shifter, though that would only last for so long against so many.

To his right, Aelin grasped for a knife, hissing slightly as her fingers wrapped around the hilt. He could tell the movement hurt her far more than he was letting on, but that she would fight to her last as well. Her movements, however, were slow and clumsy. For her sake, they needed to end this as quickly as possible, and that meant testing something he had come to suspect.

To Aedion, he said quietly, “We need to draw these things out of the trees.”

“Does that mean you have a plan?” came the reply.

Rowan nodded. “Our best chance is ending this as quickly as possible. That means drawing them out into the open so that we can deal with them.”

“It’s the ‘dealing with them’ aspect I was hoping you had a plan for,” Aedion quipped.

Rowan growled and grabbed Aelin around the waist. “I have a plan, but we need to be ready regardless. The shell looks like it has weak points in the underbelly and around the eyes, if all else fails, but if I’m right we won’t need to fight with blades tonight.”

Aelin glared up at him, but Rowan ignored her as he moved them back several paces. Aedion and the shifter followed, and as he’d expected the spiders continued to draw closer. An intelligent foe with their numbers would try to surround them, and he had seen the cold calculations in the first spider’s eyes. He was counting on them drawing closer, or else this last hope of a plan would certainly fail.

Once they had retreated a safe distance from the forest, he turned his focus back to Aelin. She had drawn two daggers now, but her hands were trembling enough that he suspected they would be largely useless.

Rowan took a deep breath as the dozen spiders he had spotted finally emerged, and as the shifter took on her preferred feline form and Aedion lifted his sword he turned to Aelin, one hand going to her chin and tilting her head so that she was looking at him as well. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

“I already don’t like where this is going,” she replied easily, though he could read the truth in her eyes at this distance. Just one more reason to suspect he was correct, and that this would work.

“If this works,” he said as he turned his attention back to the advancing creatures, “one blast. Surround them. Do your best to avoid the trees if you can. Work fast and burn hot.”

“I thought you told me not to touch my magic,” she frowned.

“I still don’t want you to touch your magic,” he agreed as he took one of her knives from her.

Aelin was now seething beside him, likely because of his theft of her weapon. “I’m going to need that,” she pointed out.

“You are. But I’m going to need it first.”

He looked back at her, her face flushed with anger, and held her gaze as he drew the knife across his own palm. As he handed it back to her so that she could do the same, he took a moment to send a desperate prayer to whichever god may be listening that he wasn’t about to get them all killed.

* * *

Aelin looked up at Rowan, eyes wide, as he handed her knife back to her. “You think…?”

“We can discuss this later,” he growled, pine-green eyes back to tracking the threat that surrounded them. “We need to deal with this _now_ , while we still can.”

That was true enough, she supposed. With a hiss, she cut a shallow slice into her own palm, mirroring him. “A blood connection, right?” she asked.

He nodded, and extended his hand toward her. “One blast. Take what you need, but end it quickly.”

“It’ll be my fire that comes? Not your gifts?” she asked.

He glared back at her. _Would I be doing this if it wasn’t your fire you’d be wielding?_ he seemed to ask. _If I thought my own magic would be effective against these, I’d be using it myself._

“Fair enough, I suppose,” she said, and then their palms met and Aelin gasped as a whirlwind of ice and snow slammed into her.

From what he had said earlier, she had known he was a powerful magic user as well as a skilled fighter. She hadn’t realized the _depth_ of his power, however, not fully at least. The blizzard swirled inside her, ancient and fierce, scented like the wintry pine forests she called home. The cold winds strengthened the embers of her own magic, stoking them back into flames, and she grinned. “One shot, you said?”

He nodded. “Make it count.”

Making sure to keep a hold of his hand, Aelin led them a few more steps back. These spider-like creatures were still too close to the trees, and she risked starting a larger blaze if she attacked now.

Rowan followed her movements, lacing their fingers together so they could maintain the connection. As the spiders drew nearer, she finally judged them to be near enough to make her move.

She didn’t quite listen to Rowan. Instead, she drew a small amount of his power to create a ring of fire around the creatures, ensuring they would be unable to move. The spiders shrieked and hissed, and she grinned. “It would appear you were right,” she said quietly. “They don’t seem to like fire at all.”

“If I wanted your opinion, I would ask for it,” he snapped. “Finish it.”

Aelin focused her attention back on the ring of fire, and within moments it was burning white-hot and tall. Within moments the screaming and hissing grew in volume and then stopped altogether.

Once the only sounds in the air were the crackling of the flames, she and Rowan both carefully released their grip on each other’s hands, and immediately she felt the loss of that powerful ice storm that had swirled in her so briefly and yet so profoundly. Instead, the pain she had come to know throughout the course of the day surged back in, and she winced and curled her arms against her midsection. The fire died faster than she had expected, and as she glanced to her left and saw the sweat on Rowan’s brow she realized he was working to extinguish the flames. Once they were low enough, Aedion moved to approach the bodies of the creatures, but Rowan called out to him. “Don’t,” he said as he continued to work. “There’s not going to be enough air for you to breathe, not yet.”

Gods, he could remove the air from that large an area, even after she had taken some of his power to create that fire? Aelin eyed him with a newfound appreciation of his mastery of his gifts, even as her knees began to shake from the exertion of the day.

Finally Rowan nodded to Aedion, and judging from the sounds her cousin moved in to ensure the spiders remained dead. Aelin’s eyes, however, remained on the Fae warrior as he stalked back toward her. “We should push for that town if you think we can make it,” he said quietly. “Even if we’re just camped on the outskirts, it’ll be safer than staying here.

So he wasn’t going to address what had just passed between them, then. Rather than confront him just yet, though, she nodded. “We can move out once Aedion finishes… whatever he’s doing.” She wasn’t quite sure yet how she was going to manage, but she knew he was absolutely correct that they couldn’t remain.

A cool breeze blew across the back of her neck and she shivered, glaring at her companion—her _carranam_ , she realized. “How are you still doing that?” she demanded. “I thought—”

“I have several more centuries’ experience than you managing my own magic,” he replied smoothly. “And I began this with my power largely untapped, whereas you had almost nothing left. Now, are we going to debate this or are we going to move?”

She gave him a look that she hoped said _we are talking about this later_ and moved back to where the horses were tethered. They were still eyeing the dead spiders nervously, but it was easy enough to calm her own mount enough that she felt she would be able to ride. That was, assuming she could lift herself onto it in the first place.

A pair of hands rested themselves on her hips, but before she could turn or say anything in protest Rowan was already lifting her so she could settle astride the horse. When she did manage to glare down at him, he shrugged easily. _You were taking too long_ , he seemed to say. Was it this link between them that was allowing her to interpret his gestures so easily? She would have to ask him later, when he finally deemed it safe enough to discuss.

His hands left her then, though she was left with an imprint of their warmth on her as though a piece of her fire now resided in him as surely as the memory of his wind and ice now resided in her. She wondered how long that imprint on her magic and her soul would last, whether it would just be a few days longer or whether she would still be feeling him when he inevitably sailed across the sea and back to the queen to whom he had promised his service.

It was strange, she realized, just how quickly the tides had turned. When he had first arrived she would have loved nothing more than to send him straight back, but now…

Now she had no idea what she would do when he left, never to be seen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading and sticking with me this far!
> 
> Chapter is a little later than intended, but if you follow my updates over on tumblr (imaginedhaven.tumblr.com) you may know that this is because my laptop was trying to die and I had to get a replacement! Everything is running smoothly now and we should be back on schedule.


	9. Chapter Eight

The rest of their journey to Adarlan’s capital passed without incident, much to Aedion’s vocal and Aelin’s quiet relief. They arrived two days ahead of the date they had agreed upon with the royal family, and Aelin grinned as they reached the rooms they would be staying in until they made their formal appearance.

Lysandra fell onto the bed they would share for the next two days, sighing happily. “I know I was glad to leave the palace for a while,” she said into a pillow, “but remind me next time that traveling with you is far more dangerous than it needs to be.”

Aelin laughed, drawing her knees up against her chest as she sat beside her friend. “Would it be an adventure if there wasn’t any excitement?” she teased.

“We clearly have different ideas of excitement,” Lysandra grumbled. “Excitement is finding a lovely piece of jewelry at a steep discount. Almost dying is a different thing altogether.”

Aelin winced. “Well, I’ve only ever heard good things about the Rifthold markets,” she pointed out. “Would an afternoon of shopping be an acceptable peace offering? I need to find something to wear when we meet the royal family, after all.”

Lysandra lifted her head just enough to expose one eye and stare at her. “Just us? We’re leaving the males?”

“Unless you want Aedion to make himself useful and carry things.”

Her friend laughed at that, and finally stood. “Just us. It’s been too long since we had the chance.”

Aelin carefully didn’t mention that if the males wanted to find them they would have minimal difficulty. Aedion had tracked her down by scent a handful of times in the past, and she had no doubt that Rowan’s senses were even more keen. Instead, she linked arms with Lysandra and led her friend into the streets of Rifthold.

Though it was slightly warmer here than in her native Terrasen, once they reached the markets it was similar enough to walking through the streets in Orynth that Aelin allowed herself to relax slightly. The colors here were different, of course, with more reds and blues in use in decoration, but the stone buildings looked familiar enough and the bustle of people around her was almost exactly the same.

It took them almost no time to locate a shop that sold gowns, and soon enough they were leaving with a neatly-wrapped package containing something she could wear to face Dorian and his family when they were to officially begin their courtship.

Her primary goal accomplished, Aelin allowed her gaze to wander around the area, just another foreigner taking in the marvels of the city. They were far enough away from the palace that it was out of sight, and just a few streets away she could see the beginnings of the city’s darker alleys. It was too risky to venture there now, when the magic that normally surged through her veins was still mere embers and moving too quickly still led to aching joints. Even if she had felt comfortable doing so herself, she knew Lysandra would be unlikely to forgive her for dragging her along to a part of the city that would feel entirely too familiar to the shifter. And so instead, she marked several buildings in her mind as locations of interest and turned to her friend. “Shall we make an afternoon of it?” she asked. “That didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would.”

“I think we should,” Lysandra replied, green eyes gleaming. “You haven’t nearly made it up to me, after all. One of the girls at the dress shop told me there’s a particularly good jeweler a few streets away, and I think nothing would please me more than making you spend your own money to let me dress you up for your big day.”

Aelin laughed. “They’re hardly going to expect me to be looking my best after a long journey.”

“Oh, I know. Which is why we need to make certain you’re absolutely stunning,” Lysandra grinned. 

Her friend had a point. Image was everything, and if Aelin presented herself as the princess she was she had a better chance of the meeting going smoothly than if she showed up in riding leathers. Still, she let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I suppose,” she drawled. “But only if we also stop by that stand I saw across the streets selling chocolates. Do you think I can convince Rowan to eat one? I don’t think he’s ever eaten a sweet in his _life_ , and we can’t have that.”

Lysandra laughed at that, but it wasn’t until Aelin prompted her with a quirked eyebrow that she managed to reply. “Oh, I think if anyone could get him to do _anything_ , it’d be you,” her friend wheezed.

“You’ll tell me why that’s so amusing to you later,” she demanded before allowing herself to be led into the jeweler’s store.

A few choice purchases and absolutely no answers from Lysandra later, Aelin finally managed to drag the shifter over to the stand she had seen to peruse the selection of chocolates that were on offer.

After so long eating whatever they could find during their travels it was difficult to decide which she wanted more, and equally difficult to stop herself from buying some of each kind. Instead, she decided she would select one type for each of her companions.

Aedion was easy enough to consider, as she knew he preferred the saltiness of roasted nuts encapsulated in chocolate when she could convince him to indulge with her. Lysandra was equally easy, as she would initially protest but then happily consume the caramels the vendor had on offer.

Rowan was much harder to choose for. She hadn’t been joking when she’d told Lysandra that she was convinced the male had never eaten anything unhealthy. If he had, it was obviously decades ago. With that sort of pressure riding on her choice, she wanted to make sure it was something he would enjoy. Something simple, certainly, he didn’t seem to enjoy a lot of fuss around food, but…

She looked up to Lysandra to request her opinion, and dropped everything when she saw her friend had gone pale, staring into one of the alleys nearby.

* * *

It was like staring into a window to her own past, Lysandra realized as she saw the little girl standing in the alley. She looked to be ten or eleven, a pretty little child with golden curls and eyes the color of citrines. Her clothes, though worn, were clearly made to last, and she had a list in her little hand. No doubt she had been sent to run simple errands.

All of that wasn’t enough to catch her eye. Pretty little girls were common enough in the streets, after all. No, it was the brand on the girl’s hand that had caught her attention, the dark snake that had been tattooed into her flesh. Though not identical, Lysandra bore a similar one herself. It had since been marked over, but no matter what shape she took she could never be rid of it. The mark of a courtesan, or one in training.

The girl was young enough that she still had to be in training, and Lysandra wondered how young she had been when the mark had been etched into her skin. She wondered how it had come to be there, whether her parents had willingly given her or whether she had been taken off the streets. She knew all too well that either was possible.

Lysandra had been snatched off of the streets herself, but it was only through chance that she hadn’t been sold or even given away first. Her mother had struggled to raise her without her father, and then at a young age she had made the mistake of shifting in front of the worn woman and immediately found herself on the streets.

While shapeshifters such as herself were generally disliked and mistrusted, it hadn’t taken the brothel owners of Orynth long to realize that a protégée who could take whatever form her client wished was a valuable prospect. As a child she had accepted the bargain they offered, of shelter and food and an education in exchange for her services once she came of age.

As an adult, of course, she had learned the value they assigned for raising her and taking her in from the streets. Were it not for Aelin having run into her in a chance meeting as she was passing information to Sam, she would likely still be paying off her debts. Instead she was living in the castle as a trusted advisor and friend to the Crown Princess of Terrasen, no matter how many of her older advisors disapproved of a shapeshifter and former courtesan taking on such a role.

It had been a relief to leave the castle and all of its constraints for a short time, but the last thing Lysandra had expected was to have this sudden reminder of her own past thrust into her life. However, while she had made her choices and was currently living with them, there was still a chance for this girl to live free of the expectations that came with being raised by courtesans.

She glanced over at Aelin, who subtly nodded, and Lysandra felt a rush of relief at having her friend’s support. It was enough for her to approach the girl and crouch in the dust beside her. “Hello,” she said softly. “What’s your name?”

The girl stiffened, likely having been instructed not to speak with anyone strange while running her errands, so Lysandra carefully uncovered the mark on her own wrist and allowed her to see it. “I don’t mean you any trouble,” she reassured her.

The girl finally nodded, hands wringing together. “Evangeline,” she whispered.

“Evangeline,” Lysandra repeated quietly. “That’s a lovely name. Mine’s Lysandra. Have you been training long?”

The girl—Evangeline—shook her head. “My parents died last month,” she said quietly. “Clarisse found me after that.”

Lysandra bit her lip as she thought. A month of food and shelter and training was manageable, but if she was going to win the girl’s freedom she would have to make her undesirable to this Clarisse. And that meant…

She had to ask Evangeline first, though, or she would be little better than the girl’s current mistress. “Do you want to be able to leave?” she asked.

“I can’t,” the girl replied. “I’ve already been living there for a month, and I have no way to pay them back unless…”

“There is a way, if you want to come with me instead,” Lysandra explained. “See that lady over there, with the golden hair? That’s my friend Aelin, and she’d be able to cover your costs. But first we would need to make it so this Clarisse doesn’t want to keep you. It’ll hurt,” she warned. “But if you want a way out, we can give it to you.”

She watched as the girl thought over their offer, doing her best to keep her expression blank. She knew what she hoped for, of course, but Evangeline had to choose this for herself just as she had.

Finally those warm eyes blazed with determination and Evangeline nodded. “I don’t care if it hurts,” she said. “I want to be free.”

Lysandra smiled and drew a small knife that Aelin had gifted her, before then proceeding to buy her freedom. “We’ll have to do this quickly,” she explained. “For anyone to believe this wasn’t deliberate, I’m going to have to yell and act as though I’m angry with you. Then… the easiest way to make sure this Clarisse is willing to be rid of you is to mark your face, I’m afraid.”

Evangeline nodded quietly, and Lysandra thought quickly. They were still close enough to the markets that there would be witnesses to her actions, but near enough to the slums that she couldn’t see any guards in the area.

With one last look at the girl that Lysandra hoped was reassuring, she brandished her knife and shouted, “ _Thief_!”

* * *

Once they arrived back at their rooms for the evening, Aelin watched with a smile as Lysandra introduced her new ward to Aedion. Soon, though, she slipped away to give the three of them time to get acquainted.

It seemed Rowan had had a similar idea, for as soon as she had changed into a loose tunic and trousers there was a knocking noise at the window. She smiled, and opened the shutter to let in his hawk form. “Did you leave, or were you asked to leave?” she asked as he shifted.

“I left,” he replied. “The child overexcited herself and fell asleep in my bed.” Despite his words, his expression was thoughtful rather than annoyed. “I was under the impression that the two of you were simply walking around town. How did you collect a child?”

Aelin laughed and sat on the edge of the bed before lying back and looking up at the ceiling. “Lysandra adopted her. All I did was threaten a few people and pay a fee.”

Rowan huffed out a laugh and sat beside her. “That doesn’t actually answer my question. I would presume you don’t ordinarily collect children on your outings, or the castle would have many more than it does.”

“This was… somewhat unique, yes,” Aelin sighed. “Evangeline—the girl—reminded her of herself at that age, and I helped Evangeline like I helped Lysandra.”

A period of silence followed, and then the mattress dipped as Rowan leaned back as well. “I think your friend intends to stay with your cousin tonight,” he said.

Aelin turned her head and grinned at him. “It’s just as well,” she decided. “It’ll make tonight easier.”

Rowan frowned, pine-green eyes narrowing in her direction. “You’re certain you want to move tonight?”

“I am,” she replied, “but we can talk about that later.”

Before he could say a word she grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together, his right to her left, just as they had done in the forest what seemed like an age ago but was only a few short days. Though the lack of a blood connection meant that his power remained separate from her own, she could swear she still smelled a trace of pine and snow in the room. “So,” she whispered. “ _Carranam._ ”

“So it would seem,” he replied just as quietly, and she could read hesitation and concern in his expression.

Now that she had allowed herself to think beyond the joy of sharing magic with someone as powerful and as skilled as Rowan, she could admit that she shared those concerns. No matter how compatible their magic was, he was still a foreign warrior and she was still working to become queen of Terrasen. He would have to go back to Doranelle, and he likely wouldn’t be able to avoid telling Queen Maeve what they were. That was a serious vulnerability for both of them, and one she wasn’t entirely certain how to address.

Even though it presented several potential problems for both of them, though, she found it utterly unthinkable to even consider regretting that they had found each other in this way. It seemed he felt similarly, for though his hand had twitched within hers when she’d taken it he hadn’t snatched it away either. “It’s funny,” she said quietly. “When you first came to Orynth I couldn’t stand you, and now…”

She trailed off, uncertain of how to continue, but he nodded as though he understood regardless. “I didn’t think I would ever find something like this,” he admitted. “It’s incredibly rare to find either a mate _or_ a _carranam_ within even our longer lifespans. To find both, whether in the same person or in two different people… almost impossibly so.”

“Are they usually different people?” Aelin asked, suddenly curious.

Rowan nodded. “As far as I’m aware, yes. It’s not impossible to share both bonds with the same individual, theoretically, but I’ve never known someone to have found both at all, much less with one person. My queen would likely know far more than I on the subject, but…”

But it would be unsafe for him to ask, she realized. He was doing what he could to protect them both. And so she changed subjects into territory that would be somewhat safer. “So if so few Fae ever find their mates, is that why your birth rates are so low?”

Rowan snorted out a laugh and turned to properly face her. “Hardly. We marry, just as humans do. I don’t know if your lineage is dilute enough that it’s no longer a problem for your family, but Fae have a difficult time conceiving and an even more difficult time in childbirth.”

Aelin winced in sympathy. “I wouldn’t know,” she admitted. “My mother rarely spoke of that part of our heritage. I only know that I have magic and I can shift, and my cousin lacks both of those abilities but has heightened senses.”

“You likely won’t know for a few years yet how your Fae blood affects you,” he acknowledged. “Even your cousin is another year or two off from the time when he would Settle, if he’s going to.”

Aelin nodded, and a few more moments passed in silence. Finally, she looked over at him again. “We might as well try to rest while we can,” she said quietly. “We’ve a long night ahead, after all.”

Rowan nodded in silent reply and closed his eyes, seeming to fall asleep almost immediately in the way that only a trained warrior could. Aelin wasn’t certain if he was actually asleep or simply relaxing, and she didn’t dare to ask lest she disturb him.

She did her best to carefully ignore the fact that his fingers were still laced between her own. After all, if she moved at all at this point she risked waking him. However, she couldn’t quite banish the warmth in her chest or the fluttering sensation in her abdomen at the realization that he felt comfortable enough beside her to possibly fall asleep like this.

That warmth lingered with her as she finally also allowed herself to rest.

* * *

Aedion wrapped an arm around Lysandra as they both glanced over at the bed where Evangeline lay sleeping. Thanks to how close she was to him, he could feel the faint tremble in the shifter’s hands. In an attempt to calm her nerves, he smiled. “I almost feel bad for giving her Whitethorn’s bed,” he said quietly, “but I’ll admit I think this is preferable.”

Lysandra looked up at him, startled. “I thought you liked Rowan well enough.”

“I do,” he agreed. “But you’re prettier than he is.”

She laughed, as he had hoped she would, but then her face turned serious. “I know this isn’t something we ever talked about,” she began, only to fall silent when he set a finger against her lips.

“I’m not upset,” Aedion said quietly. “I’ve wanted a family with you for years. This isn’t how I expected it would happen, certainly, but I know what this means to you and I’m glad you did it.”

Lysandra slumped against him, relief clear in her features. “I still wish we’d had the chance to talk about it first,” she admitted. “After all the grief I gave you over assuming things about me in the beginning and not asking me first, it seems wrong.”

Aedion laughed, tucking one of her chestnut curls behind her ear. “That’s life, dearest. You told me as soon as you could. It’s not as though you would be happier if I followed you everywhere.”

He had tried to do just that when they’d first met and he’d felt the pull toward his mate. That idea had ended in Lysandra shifting into a great clawed beast and snarling in his face until he had finally admitted it was a terrible idea, he recalled. It had taken weeks for her to even speak to him after that, and first among her conditions was that she required he talk things over with her instead of assuming based on what his instincts told him. It was something that was a struggle for him at times, especially at first, but he had worked hard to earn the trust she now had in him and it was something he wouldn’t trade for all the world.

As he looked back at the girl who was still sleeping across the room, he realized that this was truly a display of the trust she had in him. She had been nervous about his reaction, and he understood why, but she had brought Evangeline home regardless. It would be difficult for all three of them, he was certain. Having been orphaned young himself, he knew that no one would be able to truly replace the family Evangeline had lost. He and Lysandra both had little experience with children, and were certain to make mistakes along the way. But a glance back at his mate revealed the determination and affection in her face as she watched the girl sleep, and when he looked back at Evangeline he recognized those same emotions in himself.

They may not be the girl’s parents, and they would never try to replace them. However, they would do their best to make sure she had the best life they could give her.

He tightened the arm he’d wrapped around Lysandra’s waist, pulling her closer. “So does this mean you’re staying with me tonight?” he asked.

“I think so,” she replied, “but I should check with Aelin first. Make sure she and Rowan are all right.”

“Better you than me,” he chuckled. “I love my cousin, but there are things I don’t need to know about her.”

Lysandra’s eyes gleamed with mirth. “So you _do_ think they’re interested in each other.”

Based on the way Whitethorn had behaved on their trip, he suspected their bond went beyond interest, but he wasn’t about to admit as much to Lysandra just yet. “I’m not willing to discount the possibility. I’m also not certain they haven’t killed each other. It could go either way; you didn’t have to watch them training.”

“Was it really that bad?” the shifter asked. “I know she was complaining about it constantly, but…”

“It was brutal,” he answered. “I think he’s more used to training soldiers, and especially in the beginning it was as though they absolutely hated each other. I don’t know what they may have said to each other, but… I thought about breaking up their training sessions more than once, based only on how they fought.”

“What stopped you?”

Aedion shrugged. “Even when it’s dilute, those of us with Fae blood require strict discipline to work past our instincts. I’ve never trained with magic, I don’t have any of my own, but I know that fire is known to be especially unpredictable. I assumed, or perhaps I simply hoped, that it would be for the best.”

Lysandra was quiet for a moment, thinking over his words, before asking, “Do you know what changed?”

“I don’t,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Maybe they had a conversation I wasn’t present for, or maybe one of them finally realized the lines they were crossing. You might have better luck asking Aelin.”

She laughed. “Aelin won’t tell me anything about it. She’ll work the conversation back to Evangeline, and you, and then I won’t realize for another hour that she never really answered my question.”

It was true, and Aedion knew it, but he sighed regardless. They both loved Aelin dearly, but it had become obvious in the past couple of years that she was hiding things from them. She still hadn’t told Aedion exactly how she and Lysandra had come to meet, though Lysandra had told what he suspected was an edited version of the tale.

Aedion shook his head, running a hand through his hair. That was a problem that wouldn’t be solved overnight. Perhaps this trip would help, but he was far from naïve. He knew that Aelin likely wouldn’t tell him until she was ready, if she ever was. “All right,” he said. “Go check with her, if that’s what you want to do.”

As Lysandra stood, Aedion watched her leave with a smile. It had truly been a stroke of luck that she was already friendly with his cousin when they had met; he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if his mate had hated Aelin. He was glad he didn’t have to find out.

His musing came to a grinding halt as Lysandra rushed back into the room. “They’re gone,” she whispered frantically.

“ _Gone_?” Aedion repeated, numb with shock.

“As though they were never there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, umm... don't hate me?
> 
> Thanks for making it this far!


	10. Chapter Nine

The Vaults were everything a princess such as Aelin should avoid. The building was tucked away in the heart of Rifthold’s slums, dim and positively reeking of subpar ale and human sweat among other, far worse scents, and shady deals were being struck in practically every corner available. Small nooks with ragged curtains housed women and men selling their company for the night, and a large unmarked pit was in the center of the main room. The two cutthroats brawling in the center of it made its purpose clear enough.

Rowan truly wished she had allowed him to venture here alone, but he supposed that would rather ruin the point of their visit.

Aelin wandered back over to him, hips swaying in a confident swagger as she carried a mug of ale in each hand. “You could _try_ to look less like an outsider, you know,” she grinned.

Rowan took a deep, calming breath and immediately regretted it. “We _are_ outsiders,” he pointed out. “You have a better chance of blending in than I.”

“Oh, please,” she replied. “You could start by looking less grumpy. Have you smiled in the last century?”

“That’s terrible advice,” he argued. “We’re in a dump, surrounded by hardened criminals. Perhaps you’ll get somewhere by smiling, but it would only look stranger if I did.”

Aelin caught his gaze as she handed him one of the mugs, turquoise eyes searching his for something. _Is it going to be a problem?_ she seemed to ask.

He shook his head minutely. Even among the Fae, he was long used to standing out. He would adapt, as he always did.

That determination didn’t stop him from tugging the hood of his cloak lower as he followed Aelin deeper into the crowd, though.

She weaved her way around the building, every step projecting an easy confidence as she looked at the people they passed with a tiny smirk and eyes that missed nothing. These were not the movements of a princess who had remained in her castle, he realized. No, this was what her assassin had taught her. This was the side of her he had encountered that first night.

It was not Aelin Galathynius he was following toward the fighting ring. No, it was her face, but it was Celaena Sardothien looking back at him through those eyes.

It was truly amazing just how different and yet similar the two were, now that he had spent time with both sides of her. Celaena was everything that Aelin was never allowed to be, all harsh edges and crude swagger as she faced her problems with the sharp blades he knew she had tucked in a surprising number of places given the fit of her trousers. By adopting Celaena’s more catlike grace and dark outfits, she could pass largely unnoticed where Aelin would ordinarily be recognizable by her golden hair and Ashryver eyes.

The determination that shone in those eyes, however, was a common thread between both personas, as was the feral smirk that graced her features as she approached the men who were running the fights.

“Name?” one of them grunted.

“Celaena Sardothien,” she purred. “Looks like an… exciting venture you have here.”

“Are you here to talk or fight?” the man snapped, and Rowan barely restrained himself from baring his canines in response to the implicit threat to her safety.

Aelin grinned and reached toward the man, tracing a single fingertip down the center of his chest. “I don’t suppose I’d get to fight you, would I?” she smirked.

It was clever, what she was doing. However, despite the obvious success she was having in setting the man on edge Rowan found himself unable to approve of her tactics. The man clearly disapproved as well, for soon she was set to fight one of the toughest competitors he had been able to find.

Aelin seemed unfazed as she allowed him to check her for weapons and then slid down into the ring, but Rowan felt a thrill of nerves on her behalf. It would be one thing if she were allowed to fight with magic, or even with her knives, but he knew she had only recently begun to learn hand-to-hand combat. A few weeks’ practice with her cousin couldn’t possibly be enough to win here.

If Aelin shared his concerns, she didn’t show it. Instead she sized her opponent up with a confident smirk, eyes never quite meeting his face but tracing along his form. “Well, this ought to be exciting, don’t you think?” she drawled. 

As she circled him, keeping to the edge of the ring, Rowan suddenly realized exactly what she was doing. She had sized him up, and realized that in a competition of brute strength she was going to be found wanting. Instead, she was doing her best to keep her competitor on edge and irritated. It was either going to explode in her face, or it was one of the most brilliant tactics he’d seen.

As she had obviously wanted him to do, he shouted and ran toward her, hands curled into fists. Rowan watched her smirk widen into a full grin before she dropped to her knees, landing one solid hit between his legs and a second to the back of a knee before rolling away.

These were not tactics her cousin would have taught her. No, these would have been taught by her former lover, or perhaps from someone who had come into her guard from a less savory beginning. They way she fought now was not about honor, but survival, and Rowan grudgingly admired her for it.

That did not stop his fingers from curling around the hilt of a knife as the man advanced again, all the more enraged now that Aelin had humiliated him once. Only the rules of their bout, few as they were, stopped him from intervening.

In the privacy of his own thoughts, Rowan could also admit that interfering would likely only enrage Aelin, and he was not stupid enough to do so without a need for it, not now that they had finally reached some level of understanding.

This time Aelin stomped on the man’s foot before whirling just out of reach, using the agility her smaller frame provided, and Rowan allowed himself to grin as her opponent swore. Judging from the way he was moving she had broken at least one bone in his foot, and his anger would make him clumsy while the injury would slow him further.

Rowan growled and the crowd hissed as Aelin’s opponent pulled a knife in flagrant violation of what few rules there were. It would have been within Aelin’s rights to end the match there, but instead she simply grinned and pulled her own blade from her boot.

Rowan felt the tension leave his shoulders at her grin, and he allowed a small smirk of his own to grace his features as they circled each other again. While the man had clearly thought to gain an advantage over her, Rowan knew how Aelin fought with knives and was confident in her impending victory.

Aelin closed ground quickly now that she was fighting in her preferred style, and allowed her opponent’s blade to graze her cheek in exchange for drawing her own across his forehead. It was a smart move; even though the cut itself was small he would soon find his vision impaired, and it would only continue to impede him. It would still be best for her to end this quickly, however, and she seemed to agree with his conclusion. Her next move was to slam the hilt of her blade down on the man’s temple, and she grinned as he fell to the ground unconscious and she was declared the winner.

He watched as she glanced at the crowd, gaze lingering on at least two different people, before she finally climbed back out of the pit and made her way back to him.

“Well, you certainly made an impression,” he muttered as he handed her cloak back to her.

“Didn’t I?” she grinned. “Come on, we’ve been here long enough.”

Though they took a circuitous route to avoid being followed, it was still only a few short minutes until they reached their room for the night. Aelin lit a candle and then cringed, eyes wide with surprise.

Rowan turned, and froze as the candlelight illuminated golden hair and furious Ashryver eyes. “You’ve been busy, _cousin_ ,” Aedion growled.

* * *

“I’m still angry with you,” Aedion muttered as they prepared for their walk to the palace two days later.

He glared at his cousin as she looked back at him, eyes wide with false innocence. “Must you be? I thought we agreed that you would forgive me.”

“Eventually,” he corrected. “We agreed that I would forgive you eventually. But you snuck out without telling anyone where you were going, and you used my instincts against me. You _knew_ I wouldn’t be able to follow you, not with Lysandra bringing home a child. And even if it’s healed now, you got hurt.”

Aedion had been _furious_ when she had snuck back in with Whitethorn that night, and even more so when he had seen the gash on her cheek. He didn’t expect her to tell him everything, of course, but he had hoped she would at least tell him she was going somewhere at all. Instead he had been left with nothing but blind panic and the inability to leave his mate and their ward vulnerable. The excuse that they had simply been exploring the town had absolutely not lessened his anger, and Whitethorn’s silence on the matter didn’t help either.

Aelin sighed, the light of the morning sun catching and glimmering in her braided hair. “I know you won’t believe me, but it was worth it.”

“You’re right,” he replied. “I don’t believe you, and you had better believe the only thing that will _make_ me believe you is you telling me why you left. And before you say another word, I know you’re not telling me the full story. You don’t have to now, we’re in public. But I don’t want you to think for one _second_ that I think you’ve told me everything.”

He watched as Aelin’s shoulders slumped, and immediately regretted the harshness of his words. If he looked at Whitethorn now he was certain he’d be met with a fierce green glare for the offense; the male had been remarkably protective of Aelin for this whole journey, and the past two days had been no exception. Aedion sighed. “I’m sorry. That was harsh, and perhaps overly so. But you need to realize that we want to help you, and we can’t do that if you’re not telling us what we need to know. Lysandra was terrified, you know.”

“Don’t bring Lysandra into this,” his mate said from where she was straightening Aelin’s skirts. “Lysandra already had it out with Aelin, and can fight her own battles. There, you’re as ready as I can make you.”

Aelin grinned over at him, clearly trying to change the subject. “Think I’m ready to meet royalty, cousin?”

She was, but then he had expected nothing less. Her hair was neatly braided around her head, making it look longer than it actually was, and a small golden circlet was peeking out of the top of it. She was wearing a gown the deep red of Adarlan, with golden accents and a deep blue lining on the inside of billowing sleeves and around her neck. Anyone who even glanced at her would be able to read the message of the choices: she had come to ingratiate herself with the royal family and especially the crown prince.

“You almost look presentable,” he teased, tugging on a loose strand of her hair.

“Och!” she cried, batting his hand away with a grin. “I don’t know why I asked you, you’re as insufferable as ever.”

Her reaction was just as much a message as anything else she ever did. By teasing back the way she did, she was telling him without actually saying the words that she was giving them an opportunity to reach level ground once more before they traveled to the palace. He had lived with her long enough to read the message hidden in her actions, and he quietly nodded. He had said all he could for now, and only time would convince Aelin to open up further.

A glance over Aelin’s shoulder granted him a glimpse of Whitethorn’s nod of approval, and briefly he wondered just how much she had told the warrior and how much he had found out on his own. He obviously knew more than he was letting on, but he was clearly defending Aelin just as he had been for weeks.

As Aedion stood and opened the door, he decided that it would be maddening if it didn’t make him so godsdamned happy that his cousin had someone else looking out for her as well.

Their journey to the palace was brief, and before long they were waved through the gates by the guards. Aedion glanced up at the building that was to be their home for the next several weeks and stopped in his tracks, openly staring.

It was one thing to hear that the upper levels of Adarlan’s palace were constructed of glass. It was quite another to actually see it. The first several levels, forming a building approximately the size of Orynth’s palace, were made of the same stone as much of the rest of the city. The glass extension nearly doubled the size of the building, sitting atop the stone like a gleaming crown and catching the light of the sun. Aedion cringed internally at the idea of living and working in such a distracting location, and took a moment to hope that their assigned rooms would be in the lower levels.

Several of the guards led them into the building, and in just a few short moments they were in the throne room and being greeted by the crown prince himself. Aedion stood to one side, hands loosely clasped behind his back as would be expected of him, but his eyes swept the room for threats.

Before all else, even with everything that was unsaid between them, he was Aelin’s protector and he intended to do his duty.

* * *

Dorian offered to escort Aelin and her escort to their rooms personally, every inch the welcoming crown prince he was expected to be, and smiled as Aelin took the arm he offered to her. “I hope your journey wasn’t too hard on you,” he said as they walked. “I know you set a fast pace.”

Aelin smiled back at him in a way that meant she had quite the story to tell, he was certain. “It was certainly an adventure,” she admitted. “This is the furthest I’ve been from Orynth in years, ever since we lost my parents.”

“It was hard on Terrasen,” Dorian acknowledged. “It made sense for your regent to keep you close, where you could be guarded while you came of age.”

Aelin nodded. “Such a depressing discussion, though. I’d much rather talk about your father’s improvements to the castle.”

Dorian laughed. “Truthfully? I spend as little time in the glass portion of the castle as I can get away with. You’ll all be living in the lower levels as well,” he revealed, and he smiled as the rest of the group breathed sighs of relief. “It’s not much further from here, I know you all must be exhausted.”

The first room, which had been prepared for the two warriors Aelin had brought with her, was the room that would best suit for the child they hadn’t been expecting to travel with the group. One of the warriors, who looked similar enough to Aelin that he presumed him to be her cousin Aedion, joined the girl. The woman who had traveled with them remained in that room as well, leaving only Aelin and her tutor. “I wasn’t certain whether to expect you, Prince Rowan,” Dorian admitted, “but I am glad we prepared for the possibility.”

The Fae prince smiled, though there was no humor in it. “I aim to surprise,” he replied. “It’s gotten me far in life.”

“I see,” Dorian muttered. “The room next to Aelin’s was meant to go to her assistant, though it appears she is staying elsewhere. It is already prepared, if you wish to stay there instead.”

The warrior nodded in response and slipped into the room, leaving only Aelin to escort to the next door. “I had a few surprises brought up for you,” Dorian admitted.

Aelin grinned, turquoise eyes sparkling with excitement. “Did you, now?”

Dorian only opened the door to her rooms and quietly gestured for her to enter, wanting her to see rather than spoil the surprise.

He was not disappointed when she reacted with a gasp, hand covering her mouth as she saw the stacks of books he’d selected from the library. “We don’t have quite as wide a selection regarding ancient history as the Library of Orynth,” he disclosed, “but I found what I could. I know you like your books older than most can remember.”

“I love it,” Aelin replied, a small tremble in her voice as she delicately traced the spine of one of the manuscripts. “I’ll enjoy discussing these with you, I think, if you’d care to.”

“I would be delighted to hear your opinions on my selections, of course,” Dorian grinned. “I would expect nothing less.”

As he watched, she began sorting through the small collection. That wasn’t his only surprise for her, though, and she blinked up at him when he told her as much. “I’m not certain how many more surprises I can take,” she confessed. “And to think it’s only my first day here.”

“There’s only one more today,” he reassured her as he moved closer to the desk. “I’m not certain of the customs surrounding courting in Terrasen, but here in Adarlan it is customary for a prince to give his intended a token to affirm the negotiation. Even though we have our own understanding, I thought it best to adhere to the custom.”

Aelin nodded. “It would certainly be advantageous. This will only work for both of us if we’re convincing.”

“I thought along similar lines,” he agreed as he pulled a plain golden ring from his pocket and took her hand.

Aelin stared at him, eyes wide enough that he could see the ring of gold that highlighted their blue shade, and he rushed to explain. “Our history says that this ring was brought across the sea by one of your ancestors, and brought into the Havilliard family by marriage centuries ago. It seemed only fitting to return it to a Galathynius, regardless of how our little arrangement ends.”

The corners of Aelin’s lips curled into a smile. “Such a thoughtful courting gift, Prince Dorian,” she mused. “Why, people will start to talk.”

Dorian laughed. “I believe you revel in the attention. Regardless, it would be terribly hurtful to reject it, so I’m afraid I must insist.”

The ring had been forged and sized for a man long ago, and so Aelin’s thumb was the only finger it would reasonably fit on. However, this realization only made her grin, and he breathed an internal sigh of relief. “I will treasure this, then,” she said as she looked down at it, “as a most thoughtful gift from someone I hope will remain a dear friend.”

“As a prince, I feel obligated to say it would benefit both Terrasen and Adarlan for us to maintain close ties,” he replied. “As a man, however, I will admit I hope so for more personal reasons as well. You’re the first person I’ve met outside of my tutors and advisors willing to discuss history and literature alike with me, and I’m selfish enough to want it to continue regardless of what happens.”

Aelin smiled. “Well, if I’m lucky I can make decent headway into the first of these by the evening meal. Perhaps we can discuss it further then.”

“It would be a pleasure,” Dorian said as he moved back toward the door. “I’ll make certain someone helps you find your way to the dining room.”

As Aelin hummed in acknowledgement and opened the first book, he smiled and left her to get settled in. Everything was going according to their plan, and he couldn’t be more pleased.

* * *

The first text Aelin had opened happened to recount the creation of Doranelle, and Aelin was enthralled from the first words. For all that she had given her tutors a difficult time as she grew up, her lessons in history had long been her favorite. Whether it was the history of Terrasen or of its neighboring lands, it had been the one subject in which Aelin had truly excelled.

As she had grown older, and especially after her parents had died, she had become more interested in learning about Doranelle in particular as well. She had promised her mother that she would never go there herself, but she had known on some level that someday representatives from Doranelle would come to her, and she had wanted to be as prepared as she could be.

Of course, that day had come and she had quickly realized there had been absolutely no way to prepare herself for Rowan Whitethorn.

As she turned the page, she thought that perhaps she ought to discuss this history with him. Although it was incredibly unlikely that the male had actually been around for Doranelle’s creation while Mab and Mora yet lived, as someone who had been born and raised there perhaps he would have some insight she would miss as an outsider. Not only that, but he would be able to tell her what it was like there now, and that was just as important as the historical context of the city.

She carefully closed the book as she heard the door to her room open, and she glanced over, expecting that perhaps it was Lysandra or even Rowan come to check on her. Instead, she saw a young man wearing the dark uniform of Adarlan’s royal guard. As he closed her door behind himself she studied his close-cropped chestnut hair, and as he turned around she met warm brown eyes.

Perhaps this was who Dorian had sent to make certain she would be able to find her way around, though it was early yet. “Well met, guardsman,” she called, hoping that her acknowledgement of his presence would prompt him to say what he was doing in her rooms in the first place.

“Your Highness,” he responded as she finally pieced together his features and a portrait she had seen what seemed like ages ago. This was Chaol Westfall, the captain of Prince Dorian’s guard and rumored to be one of his closest friends. Lysandra’s dossier had noted some of his familial ties, but those were less important to her in this moment than the fact that he had risen to captain at such a young age. Either he was promoted due to his friendship with the prince or due to impressive skills, and the way he walked strongly suggested the latter to her.

“Dorian mentioned he was sending someone. Is that why you’re here?”

Captain Westfall squared his shoulders, one hand straying to the hilt of an impressive-looking sword. “Partially,” he replied. “Chaol Westfall, Captain of Adarlan’s royal guard. As captain of the guard, he asked me to make certain yourself and your escort were comfortable and to show you around the palace. However, that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

“Oh?” Aelin asked, a single eyebrow raising in question. “Did one of my people give one of yours a difficult time?”

“That remains to be seen,” the captain replied. “I’m hoping that my inquiries can be resolved quickly and quietly.”

“I believe that would be advantageous for all involved,” she said carefully, “and I will do what I can to answer your questions.”

“Then you will have my thanks, though I doubt you will want them,” the young captain said as the warmth left his eyes.

“Oh? Is there something I’ve done to cause offense?”

“One of my guards reported a disturbance in the city two nights ago, and I went to investigate,” he began. “The perpetrator was claimed to be a young woman with golden hair, going into the worst part of the slums and entering an illegal fight. Ordinarily this wouldn’t be a matter for the royal guard, and I would’ve left it alone. However, Dorian had given me descriptions of those we were to be expecting to arrive at the palace so that you might pass through the gates more easily. So I went to investigate myself, just to make certain that we wouldn’t have any trouble.”

He stepped closer, and Aelin did her best to keep her surprise off of her face. “My question for you, Your Highness,” he continued, “is what exactly you were doing in the Vaults two nights ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all so much for reading and staying with me this far!


	11. Chapter Ten

Aelin let out a dramatic sigh as she studied Captain Westfall’s face. “I don’t suppose there’s any convincing you that I simply have one of those faces, is there?”

“I saw you with my own eyes, Your Highness. There is not.”

“Very well,” Aelin replied. She leaned forward, inviting Captain Westfall closer into the room. “I do hope that what I’m about you can stay between us. It could be messy, and I don’t wish to implicate Dorian in any of this.”

“That’s why I came,” he said. “My duty in all of this is to protect the crown prince, and I need to know he’s not under threat from your… antics.”

“He’s not,” she declared. “It’s all rather embarrassing, actually. I fear one of my own countrymen has relocated to Rifthold and is beginning to cause trouble for you. He is an assassin and a trainer of assassins, loyal to no crown but that which is stamped on the coin he makes, and I fear he has overstepped his bounds. You may not be familiar with the name Arobynn Hamel, if your duties are mostly limited to the palace.”

Captain Westfall’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not a name with which I am familiar, no,” he admitted.

“My intelligence suggests that he owns a substantial interest in the Vaults,” Aelin revealed. “By making an appearance there under an assumed name, I hoped to attract his attention so that I could deal with him quietly, before he becomes a problem for Adarlan.”

“Is there a reason that I should believe you?” he asked.

Aelin grinned. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to believe me without evidence,” she purred as she reached for one of her bags and pulled out a few papers. “Here you will find copies of directives in his own hand that my agents in Orynth intercepted, as well as correspondence concerning his interest in the Vaults.” Of course, the agent had been Aelin herself, but Captain Westfall didn’t need to know how personal this was for her.

The captain reached for the papers, but Aelin held them up with a teasing grin. “Before I give these to you, I would like your word that this remains as quiet as possible. If Arobynn learns that there is a larger investigation I fear we’ll lose his trail. I’ve already lost him once.”

Aelin hid a wince at that last revelation. That was too much, too personal, and of course the captain noticed the slip immediately. “What is a crown princess doing trailing an assassin herself? Surely you have others to handle that.”

“Precious few I can trust, after an incident two years ago,” she replied, and she breathed an internal sigh of relief when he seemed to accept this. “When Prince Dorian invited me down to Rifthold to affirm our courtship, it was a perfect opportunity to finish this sorry business as well.”

Captain Westfall sighed. “If this investigation of yours endangers Dorian at all, it will gain the full attention of the guard. Until then, this information will be for my eyes only. That’s the best I can promise.”

“I understand, Captain Westfall, and I appreciate your discretion,” she smiled as she handed the papers over to him. He glanced at a few of them before tucking them away—to be more thoroughly examined later, she was certain. “If you have any questions, I am happy to share with you what I know. After all, my hope is that we deal with him quickly and quietly, before word can get out about what he’s been doing here.”

“If what you say is true, then it would appear that our interests are aligned in this matter,” the captain replied. “I’ll return in a few hours to escort you all to the evening meal.”

Without a further word, Captain Westfall let himself out of her rooms as quickly and quietly as he had let himself in.

A few minutes later her door opened again, and this time it _was_ Rowan. “Is the captain going to be a problem?” he asked.

“If I said yes, would you help me deal with him?” She wouldn’t ask him to, of course, but she had to admit she was curious as to his response.

“In a heartbeat,” he replied, and she felt a thrill of surprise at his lack of hesitation. “I do feel I must advise it could cause political complications, however.”

Aelin smiled. “Luckily for politics, I think he’s on our side. He may even help us, though that remains to be seen. His focus was on making certain Dorian isn’t any part of it, and I intend that as well.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed and his head tilted slightly as his gaze caught on her hand. “Speaking of the prince,” he said, “I may not be overly familiar with human courting customs. However, don’t rings usually come _after_ the marriage?”

Aelin blinked, and then looked down at the plain gold band that was still around her thumb. “Oh. Yes, at least in Terrasen. Dorian said that in Adarlan there’s usually a gift given at the beginning, but he didn’t specify it had to be a ring. He said he chose this because it belonged to my ancestors.”

Rowan seemed unimpressed by this, but didn’t voice any further concerns. Instead, he stood. “For now, we’ll have to assume your new guard friend won’t actively assist us. I’ll circle the palace before the evening meal, and attempt to learn the patterns of castle security. There should be a weak point we can use to sneak out as needed.”

“And if there is, I trust you to find it,” she smiled. “And what of your days? I apologize, but I didn’t consider what you would do once you actually got here.”

Rowan’s eyes grew bright and his lips curled into a grin. “Oh, princess,” he drawled, “did you truly believe you could escape your training simply because you’re in another country?”

Before she could say a word in response he had already left, and she could swear she heard the sound of laughter as the door closed behind him.

* * *

Rowan’s amusement faded as he returned to his own room and saw a piece of paper sitting on his desk. The guardsman who had visited Aelin had come to him first and given it to him, saying it had arrived shortly before they did. The letter was unsigned, but the pulling sensation in his chest and the tingling at the base of his neck told him exactly who it was from and what it contained.

A quick glance at the dark seal confirmed his suspicions, and he wondered for a moment exactly how long he could delay reading the letter before the oath he had sworn deemed him to be in defiance of his queen. In the end, though, he decided it wouldn’t be worth it to test the limits of the blood oath on something such as delaying reading a letter.

A quick flick of one of his smaller knives broke the seal, revealing a short and unsigned note.

_ I have read the signs in response to your reports. Doranelle does not approve of the potential match between Aelin Galathynius and Dorian Havilliard. Do what you can to subtly discourage the continuation of this courtship, and notify me immediately if they decide to proceed despite my disapproval. _

Rowan sighed, letting the note fall to the surface of the desk as he considered his options. The tug of the blood oath meant that he couldn’t ignore it altogether, but the command for subtlety granted him some leeway in how he chose to proceed.

It made sense to Rowan that Maeve would disapprove of the potential match. Aelin had a powerful fire gift, though he had done his best to downplay the full extent of her powers in his reports and instead focused on her lack of control. While he was uncertain if Maeve knew the gifts of the Havilliard prince, he knew it was entirely possible that she had foreseen something in their future that would indicate the extent of his raw magic. It was equally likely that she was basing her decision off of the knowledge that magic ran in the Havilliard line as strongly as it did in the Galathynius line. Without directly asking, it was impossible to know, and Rowan had absolutely no intention of asking.

Truth be told, Rowan wasn’t certain he approved of the match either, though he had no valid reason to feel one way or another about it. Perhaps it was the _carranam_ bond that was so freshly forged between them that was causing him to feel so unsettled, or perhaps it was simply that no matter what he did he could still taste the wildfire of her blood. Whatever the reason, he had felt ice flood his veins when he had seen that flash of gold on her finger.

Rowan sighed. Even if their courtship failed for whatever reason, he still needed to deal with whatever this uncertainty was, and quickly. He would not be permitted to stay in Terrasen or in Adarlan indefinitely, and once he had deemed her training complete it was incredibly likely that he would never see her again. Likewise, he would not be able to get around the oath indefinitely by prolonging her training needlessly. Maeve would only send another of her blood-sworn to get a secondary report, and he would be punished all the worse for his defiance.

Gods knew he was already courting enough danger as it was.

Despite the dangerous game he found himself playing, he couldn’t bring himself to regret his decisions. The fire that burned in Aelin so brightly commanded loyalty and admiration from those close to her, and despite his best efforts he had found himself no exception. She was a bright spark compared to the sea of darkness in which he’d found himself adrift, and without him noticing a part of him had latched onto that brightness and didn’t want to let it go. She would be a great queen one day, with or without a consort at her side, and her brilliance only served to highlight the darkness of the queen he currently served.

It really was quite a mess in which he’d found himself, and he found himself longing for the insight of his companions and fellow blood-sworn. Fenrys and Connall would have been unlikely to have much insight; Fenrys had made his disdain of their situation well-known and would be in favor of any form of rebellion, while Connall was more soft-spoken and a better listener than advisor. Vaughan was similar to Connall in that regard, and unlikely to say much of anything. Lorcan…

Rowan snorted out a quiet laugh. Lorcan would have nothing but disdain for him and his current situation. He loved their queen and had spent centuries devoted to her, and would have little tolerance for what Rowan was doing to work around his oath.

Truly, the only one who might have insight worth considering was Gavriel, and Rowan was determined not to bring him into this mess. Matters were complicated enough already.

He had known immediately, of course, that Aedion was Gavriel’s son. Their scents were too similar to leave any doubt, but even without that Aedion’s parentage was evident in his features and in the strength of his heart. The corner of Rowan’s lips twitched into a brief smile; truly, only someone with Gavriel’s immense patience and devotion would have been able to remain by Aelin’s side for as long as Aedion had without questioning her once. What was less clear, though, was whether Gavriel had hidden him away or whether he was completely unaware he even had a son. Either was equally likely; his companion had never once mentioned a child, and it would’ve been incredibly dangerous for him to father one knowingly given his oath.

Whatever the story was, the only safe plan was to carefully avoid saying anything to either father or son, and to leave it out of his reports entirely and pray to whatever god chose to listen that Maeve didn’t ask him anything about Aelin’s cousin. That also meant not asking Gavriel for advice even if he thought there was a possibility his letter wouldn’t be intercepted. No, he was truly on his own.

With a sigh, Rowan carefully lit a candle and burned the note. Then he shifted and flew out of his window to observe the palace walls. Better to focus on the short term, since there was nothing he could do today that would solve his larger problems.

* * *

Lysandra let herself into Aelin’s room an hour before the evening meal was to be served, laughing when she saw the stack of books her friend had on her desk in addition to the one she was currently reading. “I see the prince wasted no time in trying to impress you,” she teased.

Aelin smiled and set her book aside. “These were waiting for me already when Dorian led us here. How’s Evangeline settling in?”

Lysandra smiled back, warmth coursing through her. “She’s sleeping right now. Still overwhelmed, I think. Aedion’s watching her.”

Though he had had no real reason to do so, Aedion had fully embraced caring for the young girl just as quickly as he had declared his intentions toward Lysandra herself. Although it had unnerved her when they had first met, she had come to admire his ability to love so fiercely so quickly. It was simply a part of who he was, just as her own need for independence as well as the uncertainty that had demanded he prove his intentions were a part of her.

Aelin’s smile softened. “You know, growing up with him I never thought I’d see my cousin in any kind of parental role. Not through any fault of his own, but he was always so dedicated to the crown and to being a soldier.” Dedicated to Aelin herself, although her friend did the courtesy of not saying as much. “I have to admit it suits him.”

“It truly does,” Lysandra agreed.

“So does this mean you’ve decided to accept him?”

The shifter laughed. “Oh, no, you don’t get to know before he does. I promised him that ages ago. Besides, you’re far more interesting right now than we are.”

“Oh?”

“You and Rowan seem to be close now, after that trip,” she grinned.

Aelin glanced down at her hands where they rested in her lap. “Well, I suppose we couldn’t try to kill each other forever,” she replied. “That would be boring, and I loathe boredom.”

“There’s a great deal of ground between not trying to kill each other and sneaking out together.” Lysandra watched as Aelin’s eyes widened briefly before she regained her composure. Her friend’s tells were subtle, but Lysandra was a master of reading people’s expressions. Her life and livelihood had depended on that skill for so long, after all. Now that skill allowed her to know Aelin was hiding something. “I know you didn’t want to tell Aedion, but…”

Aelin took a breath, carefully not looking at her. “I had some unfinished business,” she said simply.

Lysandra frowned. That was a look she hadn’t seen on Aelin since… “Oh, gods, this is about Sam.”

Aelin went perfectly still where she was sitting, and Lysandra immediately knew she was right. “But that was all in Orynth,” the shifter protested. “What could be happening here that you think is related?”

She watched as Aelin bit her lip thoughtfully, obviously trying to decide how much to share. “Sam wasn’t from Orynth, as you know,” she began. “His former employer is here in Rifthold, as is the person I believe gave the order for his death.”

Lysandra sighed. “I know you won’t tell me what’s going on,” she admitted. “Ever since you brought me into the palace, we haven’t talked about it at all, and I understand why. But does Rowan know what you’re leading him into?”

It wasn’t a lie, even though she could admit it upset her that her friend felt she couldn’t talk to anyone about this. Gods knew she had a difficult time talking about her own life those last few months on Orynth’s streets, and Aelin had gone through so much more.

As Lysandra watched, Aelin finally met her gaze. “Rowan knows everything,” she said simply.

Lysandra could feel her face transform into a shocked expression as her body went numb. “Everything?” she asked, voice sounding faint and distant to her own ears.

Aelin nodded. “I was… out, gathering evidence, and he found me. I explained everything.”

If Lysandra had come into this room with questions about the bond between Aelin and Rowan, that statement alone confirmed most of her suspicions. The only reason Lysandra herself knew about Sam was that she had met the two of them at the same time. For Aelin to have told this Fae warrior about her deceased lover, there must have been more than either of them were willing to admit. “And he didn’t drag you back to the palace and drop you in front of Aedion?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Aelin shook her head, smiling. “He offered to assist me in my investigations, and in bringing justice to the one responsible.”

“That’s what changed,” the shifter realized. “Isn’t it? That’s what made the two of you stop fighting as much as you did.”

“It is. We… reached an understanding.” Aelin glanced away again, a certain sign that she was still keeping secrets, but it appeared that rather than hiding her own secrets she was keeping Rowan’s safe.

Lysandra decided to allow it, but she had to warn her friend nonetheless. “You’ll have to tell Aedion eventually, you know. He’s worried for you.”

“I don’t want to lose his respect or his trust,” Aelin replied. “If he… if _anyone_ found out about Sam, about what we were planning…”

Lysandra cut her off. “He loves you, Aelin. He’s your family. If anyone would understand, I would think it’d be him.” Even as she said the words, though, she realized that was precisely why Aelin felt as though she couldn’t tell him. Telling Rowan, as upsetting as it must have been, would’ve had fewer possible consequences than revealing something so important to someone who had always been so close.

To her credit, Aelin just smiled and shook her head before changing the subject entirely. “If I’m not mistaken, we have an evening meal to prepare for,” she grinned.

And so the two friends both moved to the closet of Aelin’s room, Lysandra choosing to let it go for now. She couldn’t help but wonder, though, how long this tenuous peace could last if Aelin opted to maintain her silence.

* * *

The next few weeks passed with only minor incidents, for which Rowan was grateful. His mornings were spent training Aelin further in her magic, focusing primarily on control while performing smaller tasks as he and Aelin both agreed that it would be disadvantageous to display the fullest extents of her power. They had found a small courtyard on their first morning in the palace and quickly learned to secure it, ensuring that no one could go near them and risk injury. If that also meant the court was on edge about the princess spending so much time alone with a currently-unmated Fae male, well, that only furthered his queen’s command to disrupt the potential of her union with Prince Dorian.

In the afternoons he worked on his reports to his queen, carefully selecting his words so that he was concealing as much as possible while still adhering to his oath as Aelin did whatever it was she normally did with the Havilliard prince. He also rested as much as he could, since his mornings were devoted to training Aelin and his nights…

Every night he and Aelin snuck out of the palace gates and into the slums of Rifthold, each time selecting a different location. Sometimes she brawled with cutthroats, others she bought and sold information like she was born to do it. Once, they had returned to the Vaults and started a barfight that left the entire building trashed and the safe in the office cracked open. As far as he was aware, the owners had decided they would be unable to recover their losses and simply closed down.

She had done all of that to catch the eye of the most dangerous man in Rifthold, and soon they would know whether their efforts had been worthwhile.

Rowan groaned at the sound of someone pounding on his door, hand scrubbing at his face as he stood. Despite his best efforts, he had slept terribly that night, and the noise only served to set him further on edge. He finally opened the door and dodged the fist that had been about to pound on it once more, completely unsurprised to find Aedion there.

The younger male’s eyes were wild and his hair a tangled mess, clear signs of his evident distress. “Is she with you?” he demanded.

Rowan simply shook his head, watching as Aedion’s face fell.

The warrior began to pace. “She’s not in her rooms. _No one_ in the guard can find her, though I did ask their captain to be discreet and it’s possible they haven’t had a chance to look everywhere—”

Rowan decided to give him what little mercy he could. “I know where she is,” he revealed.

“Then you can take me to her, right?”

“No. She asked that I give her twenty-four hours before I send anyone looking.”

“What?” Confusion emanated from Aedion as he froze in his tracks.

Rowan sighed. “Fair warning, you’re not going to like it if I tell you.”

“I don’t care,” he insisted. “Tell me everything.”

“I can’t. Most of it is Aelin’s secret to keep, and not mine to tell.”

“Then tell me what you _can!_ ” Aedion demanded, grabbing Rowan’s shirt before realizing what he had done and backing off as Rowan snarled.

With another sigh, Rowan began to speak. “You’ll want to fetch the guard captain before we begin. I’m only saying this once.”

* * *

Aelin awoke in a cold and dark room, with no windows and multiple locks on the door. When she moved to inspect them, she stopped short when her wrists didn’t move with the rest of her. She was chained or otherwise bound, then, she realized as she fought the urge to panic.

Her boots had been taken away and she was left in a thin shirt and trousers, every knife she’d had on her presumably gone as well. As a test, she reached inward for her magic, wincing when she only found embers instead of the wildfire that usually lived within her. Iron, then. She was bound in iron.

As she continued to take stock of her situation she was relieved to find she was mostly unharmed. Her head still ached from the initial blow when she had been taken, and her shoulders and wrists were screaming at her current position, but there was nothing beyond what she had expected.

Aelin allowed herself a small smirk as she carefully rotated her wrists as much as she was able. It seemed phase one of her plan had gone off without a hitch.

Footsteps sounded outside her door, audible even to her currently-human ears. She had only seconds to decide how she was going to present herself, then. She carefully shifted back in the chair on which she was seated, grinning to herself as the chains slackened slightly, and crossed her unbound legs.

The door opened and Aelin closed her eyes briefly to allow herself a moment to adjust to the sudden light of a torch without flinching. When she opened them she saw a man closing the door behind himself. Either the locks were on the other side of the door or he wasn’t foolish enough to bar the way should he require assistance, for he ignored them completely.

The man wore expensive, though unadorned, clothing that was loose enough to allow him to move unrestricted. The material of his dark grey shirt was fine enough that it draped along muscled arms, all the way down to elegant hands. He had clearly carefully planned his outfit just as she would have, for the color perfectly offset the long auburn hair he had tied back. When he turned, silver eyes gleamed above high cheekbones in the light of the torch he carried.

“Celaena Sardothien,” he murmured, voice a low purr that barely held any trace of his former country of Terrasen. “What a pleasure to finally meet you at long last. Or perhaps I should call you Aelin, _Your Highness_?”

It was a calculated move, intended to unsettle her, but she had already expected that he would guess who she was once he looked closely enough. Instead, she flashed him an inviting smile and relaxed further into her chair. “Hello, Arobynn,” she drawled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahaha please don't hate me.


	12. Chapter Eleven

“So, let me make certain I have this absolutely clear,” Aedion drawled in a way that immediately set Rowan on edge.

Rather than reply and risk growling rather than speaking, he nodded, the movement tighter and less smooth than he would’ve liked.

“Aelin came here to Rifthold fully intending not only to continue her relationship with the prince, but to apprehend a criminal—not just _any_ criminal, but an _assassin_ —who was originally from Terrasen and moved to Rifthold.”

Rowan gritted his teeth and gave another silent nod.

“She elected to do this for reasons you are aware of, but that she has _not_ told me and that you _refuse_ to tell me.”

Another nod and another clenching of his jaw.

“And so the two of you have been sneaking out at night, which _Captain Westfall”—_ the name came from Aedion’s lips as though it were a curse in and of itself—“condoned, if not outright allowed.”

The captain spoke up then. “Given the information presented to me, I had little other choice.”

“ _I’m not finished,_ ” Aedion snarled, and the captain fell silent. “While you were sneaking around the slums of Rifthold, you got into more than one brawl, and you destroyed at _least_ one business, which as of now still has yet to recover, if it ever will.”

This time it was harder to stifle the growl, but as Aedion’s expression didn’t change he must have managed it with at least some success.

“And then last night, it all finally comes to a head when Aelin _allows herself to be abducted by said assassin_. And you _allowed all of this to happen_.”

Rowan’s grip on his temper, already tenuous due to the nature of the situation, finally slipped enough for him to snarl at the other warrior. “ _Do not_ presume to think I made my decisions lightly,” he growled, “or that I have not spent a single moment wishing it could have been myself in her place.”

The shifter—Lysandra—delicately cleared her throat, and Aedion immediately turned his attention toward her. “If we’re done yelling at each other about whose fault it is,” she said pointedly, “then perhaps we can come up with a plan for how to handle the fact that our princess is missing?”

Rowan nodded shortly, and unfurled a roughly-sketched map of the city over his desk. He watched as the captain’s brow furrowed, likely at the idea that a foreign soldier had been able to acquire this much information about his city, but Rowan chose instead to focus on the plan he had been given. “Aelin’s request was that she be given twenty-four hours as a head start,” he began, “and I see the merit in that. If she’s not able to get the information she requires now, this assassin _will_ go to ground and it could be years before we hear of him again.”

“It likely won’t be years,” the captain interrupted, ignoring Rowan’s scowl. “I did some research on my own into the man she’s hunting. He’s too proud to go completely unnoticed for that long.”

“Be that as it may, this is our best opportunity.” Rowan tapped on a building on his map. “She was taken here. Her captors didn’t notice me following them. It appears to be a stronghold of some sort, almost a guild hall for cutthroats and killers. I think it’s unlikely that they would move her from this place.”

“Unlikely but not impossible,” Aedion retorted. “We should keep an eye on the place.”

“Once you’re satisfied with my explanations, I intend to go there myself. If you can promise to adhere to the plan, you may join me.” He had long since given up on keeping the frosty bite from his tone, but he fisted his hand at his side to keep it away from his blades.

“And how can I trust that this is actually _her_ plan?”

It was the mark of a good soldier and guard, to be skeptical of his statements. If this were any other situation, Rowan would even be grateful that Aelin had someone such as this as family and protector. But this was not any other situation, and Rowan carefully called up a hint of the ice that swirled within him in the hope that it would cool his temper before he killed Aedion. “Whatever Aelin did or did not tell you is between you and her, and I refuse to be pulled into that fight. The _only_ thing that matters right now is making certain that she exits that building safely. Are you going to help with that or not?”

Aedion growled, eyes glinting in a way that strongly reminded him that this male was indeed related to Aelin of the Wildfire, but nodded. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as we’re finished here. Captain? Lysandra? Anything to add?”

Captain Westfall cleared his throat. “If I may, I can’t keep Dorian from noticing she’s missing all day long. Do we have a plan for that?”

Rowan frowned thoughtfully, and Aedion and Lysandra glanced at each other. “That’s a terrible idea,” the shifter said as if in response to some unspoken question.

“It’s the best one we have,” Aedion replied. “This entire plan, such as it is, hinges on secrecy. And you had best believe I’ll be having words with Aelin about coming up with better plans _later_ , but right now we’re stuck with the mess she left us in.”

“Have we considered just _telling_ Dorian?”

“No, he’s right,” the captain interjected. “The less Dorian knows about this for now, the better. He’s terrible at keeping secrets like that from his expression; if we tell him everyone will suspect something is amiss.”

Rowan quickly turned his attention to the guardsman, frown deepening. He very much suspected that this was not actually true, and that the prince was far better at keeping secrets than he wanted anyone else to believe. Perhaps the raw magic that lived in his core was less well-controlled than he had believed?

Ah, of course. The magic. It wasn’t public knowledge that the crown prince of Adarlan was burdened with such a strong gift of magic. It was likely the captain was aware of the secret, and didn’t want any upset to risk a flare-up of the young man’s power at an inconvenient time.

Rowan carefully set aside the thought that Aelin’s disappearance would possibly cause an emotional disturbance in the young prince that was severe enough to unleash his magic. Better to think his control was simply a work in progress like Aelin’s rather than wonder how close they could’ve possibly gotten in a few short weeks.

Lysandra sighed, interrupting his thoughts, and when he looked up at her he froze for a moment as Aelin’s face looked back at him.

It wasn’t truly Aelin’s face, though. Lysandra was trying to adopt her usual confident smirk, but the gesture looked stiff and unpracticed. If he looked more closely the color of her eyes was ever so slightly darker as well, and the scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose was in the wrong pattern. It was deeply unsettling to be looking at this face that both _was_ and _was not_ his _carranam_ , and Rowan quickly looked away. “It should be close enough to fool the prince, for a short time,” he managed.

“So we’re decided, then,” Aedion declared.

“I still hate this plan,” the shifter cautioned.

Captain Westfall scowled as he stood. “It’s the only plan we have. I’ll do what I can to limit your interaction with the prince. I’m assuming you don’t want a guard sent to the building?”

Rowan nodded. “Best not to call attention to our movements. But be ready, in the event that we do not return.” He suspected all would be well, but it never hurt to have a backup plan.

The captain nodded, the motion tight and precise as he would expect from a soldier of the man’s status, and quickly left. “You can get there on your own?” Rowan asked Aedion.

The younger male stared at the map carefully, then nodded. “I can get there.”

“Good,” Rowan said. And then he flew from the room in a flurry of wings and frosty air.

* * *

“You take me to such nice places,” Aelin purred as Arobynn led her into another chamber, slightly larger than the previous one. Her arms and legs remained chained, but with slightly more freedom of movement she could carefully roll her shoulders and her ankles in preparation for moving quickly should an opportunity arise.

“Such a valuable player in the game should be treated with exactly the respect she commands,” Arobynn replied smoothly, though Aelin carefully suppressed a shudder at the bite beneath his words. She needed him to keep talking, to give her time to find the truth beneath the layer of lies she knew he would present.

“Well, I do believe the next move is yours. I await it eagerly,” she smirked.

She glanced at his face, focusing on the way his eyes didn’t move at all when he smiled. “I have a proposition for you, my dear.”

Oh, how she wished she could free a single arm. It was all she would need to make him regret the way he was speaking to her, as well as the bargain she believed he was about to suggest. Instead, though, she relaxed into one of the chairs as he sat in the other. “I’m listening.”

“See, we each have something the other wants,” he continued. “I have information I know you seek, and I would very much like you to _stop being a pain in my ass_.” Again, that undercurrent of rage slipped through his ironclad control, and Aelin hid another smirk. Riling people who claimed to have excellent self-control was a talent she had developed from the moment Aedion had come to their home from across the sea. It seemed this man was no exception.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” she replied.

“Ah, so you _weren’t_ aware when you and your… _companion_ … trashed the Vaults that I had a significant investment in the business?”

“One of your hulking brutes didn’t like that I beat him fair and square. I could hardly control what happened next.”

“And the safe being cracked open before you left?”

“Complete coincidence, I assure you.” She was well aware that he would have no proof it had been her who had broken open the safe, and she knew that refusing to admit to what he suspected would only make him more angry. That was good. She needed him angry enough to let information slip.

“I see. Then I presume you _don’t_ want to know how your parents died?” Another biting remark overlaid with false sincerity, velvety smoothness underlaid with sharp fangs and claws.

Aelin went cold, sensation fading from her limbs as she stared at him. “I was there. My parents died of an illness.”

“Ah, yes,” he drawled, kicking his legs up and over the arm of his chair. “An illness no healer could cure, or so I heard. I had left Terrasen by then, of course, but word spreads quickly when rulers fall.”

Aelin bit her tongue to hold in a sharp reply before glancing back over at him, expression carefully uninterested. “And assuming I can believe you’re telling the truth,” she said, “what would you ask in exchange for this information?”

“Why, what could any man want from a lovely princess such as yourself?” he asked, and Aelin once more carefully mastered her own expression to hide any disgust. “You have power, and yet you cannot access it without aid. I have that information and more, and yet I lack the power that would ensure my own safety. I’m certain we can come to some kind of… _arrangement._ ”

“That’s a high price you ask,” she replied. “And you haven’t done nearly enough to prove you’re worth such an arrangement. After all, it is I who would need to convince the lords of Terrasen to accept you. If you can’t convince _me_ …” Aelin deliberately yawned, and cheered internally as Arobynn gritted his teeth, silver eyes alight with anger.

“If knowledge regarding your own parents isn’t enough to convince you,” he snapped, “then what about information regarding your former lover?”

“It’s quite bold of you to assume I did no investigating when I discovered his body,” she retorted.

“Ah, but I would wager you have yet to learn who bid me send him to Orynth in the first place, and who gave the command to cut his life so tragically short.”

The callous admission that he had passed that command along lit a fire in her veins, and she reached for it before recalling that she was bound in iron. The wildfire fizzled, mere sparks that slipped from her fingers. “And what assurance could you give me, that you would tell me and that you have proof?”

Arobynn stood, and Aelin did finally cringe as he slid two fingers under her jaw to tilt her head up. “My dear, do I look like a man who leaves anything to chance? You’ll have your proof once I have our agreement.”

Aelin jerked her head back, freeing herself from his grip. “That’s a shame, for there will be no agreement until you’ve presented your proof.”

Almost immediately, Arobynn’s casual expression melted into steely anger. “What a shame indeed,” he murmured. “Perhaps you would care to enjoy some more of my… _hospitality_ … first.”

As the man stepped away and opened the door, someone else entered the room. Aelin carefully stood as well, but even with a single glance she knew this wasn’t a fight she would win. Not with her limbs and power both bound by the iron chains clamped around her ankles and wrists.

At Arobynn’s nod, the newest arrival to the room gave her a predatory grin and dragged her toward the wall. Her face made contact with the wall as he shoved her against it with a hand between her shoulders, and while she was stunned by the impact he attached her chains to hooks affixed to the wall. “Do let me know if you decide to change your mind,” Arobynn called, and then the door closed behind him as he left.

Aelin heard the sound of a whip cracking, and as if from a distance she heard herself screaming as fire spread along her back.

* * *

Lysandra finally relaxed into her role as she sat beside the prince for the evening meal. True to his word, the captain of the guard had kept him busy for most of the day, giving her time to overcome her nerves at having to pretend to be someone like Aelin. Oh, she had acted before. She had played roles for clients and courtiers alike, and she had certainly changed her face many times.

None of them had felt nearly as important as this. Everything was on the line, completely dependent on Dorian believing her performance as his potential future wife.

 _It’s only for one day_ , she reminded herself as her fingers twisted around each other. She had complete faith in Aelin’s ability to execute a plan, as well as Aedion and Rowan’s ability to keep her safe. It was up to her, now, to give them the time they needed.

Dorian’s parents seemed to be completely unaware of the swap, and Lysandra had spent enough time listening to Aelin’s tutors to be able to follow the light political conversation that was taking place. Even Dorian was engaging with her just as he would with Aelin, and when he grinned at an offhand remark she awarded herself another point for her acting.

As the meal came to an end, Dorian looked over at her again. “So tell me, did you want me to do something terribly predictable and show you the gardens? Or can we skip that part?”

Lysandra laughed in reply as Dorian grinned. “Perhaps another time. I still have to read several of the books you’ve loaned to me, if I hope to finish them during this visit.”

Dorian stood, then, and turned to face her with an ostentatious bow. “Then I hope you will grant me the honor of allowing me to escort you back to your rooms, Your Highness.”

Lysandra chuckled and shook her head in what she hoped came across as a fond gesture. “You’re impossible,” she accused.

The prince laughed in reply. “I assure you that I am not,” he said. “I _am_ here, after all. Unless you’d care to discuss the philosophy of such a statement, of course.”

“I rather suspect we would be here all night,” Lysandra grinned back as she stood, allowing him to take her arm and lead her away.

It was easy enough to allow Dorian to escort her back to Aelin’s room after the evening meal, though she couldn’t help a moment of surprise when he followed her into the main seating area. He glanced at the book Aelin had left open on her desk, humming thoughtfully as he read a few sentences. “Ah. I thought so,” he muttered.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, mimicking Aelin’s easy grin as she relaxed into a chair halfway across the room.

He turned to her then, and a chill in the air matched the frost in his eyes. “If I invited you to share my bed tonight, shifter, would you demur like the princess you claim to be? Or would you say yes, believing she’s already given into my charms?”

* * *

In another situation, or if he were simply an observer and not a participant in this conversation, Dorian might have been amused at the nearly-comical widening of not-Aelin’s eyes. Instead, though, he only felt a cold rage at the deception.

To the shifter’s credit, she immediately dropped the guise of Aelin and returned to her usual appearance. “I told them this was a terrible idea and we should just _tell_ you,” she grumbled. “What tipped you off?”

“A few things,” he replied, “though the most suspicious to me was that this book is open to where Aelin left off last night when I left. She hasn’t read it today.”

The shifter—Lysandra, if he was remembering correctly—nodded. “I didn’t think you would come back here,” she confessed.

Dorian sighed. “Why don’t you start by telling me exactly what it is you’ve all been keeping from me today, and why the captain of my guard appears to be working with you.”

That was the part that was the most shocking to him, if he were being truly honest with himself. He had never once had cause to question Chaol’s loyalty, and he didn’t want to begin now. He only hoped there was a reasonable explanation for why he had been so eager to ensure he spent as much time as possible embroiled in his training and studies.

As he thought about the possibility that his captain and friend was conspiring with these people, as good as he believed Aelin’s intentions to be, he had to take several deep breaths to stop a layer of frost from forming on his hands. His control over his magic was much better than it had been when it had first manifested, but strong emotional responses still riled the power that slept within him. Unless he wanted to entrust his deepest secret to agents of Terrasen, he needed to keep his feelings in check.

The frost finally ebbed, and the shifter began to speak. “Your captain is only involved insofar as to keep you removed from all of this,” she said quietly. “We provided him with enough information to ensure your safety, nothing more.”

“That still leaves a foreign princess, her most loyal soldier, and a blood-sworn of Doranelle in my capital city, with a purpose of which I am not aware, causing an unknown amount of chaos.” Dorian fought back a sigh at the thought of the headache this would no doubt cause for him, and that was if he was fortunate enough to avoid worse fates.

“They’re… dealing with a threat that could bode ill for you and Aelin both.” The woman was clearly trying to decide how much to reveal and how much to hide, and if he wasn’t the person she was trying to deceive in this manner he would have respected it far more.

“What is the nature of the threat?” he asked.

She sighed. “A former crime lord of Terrasen, who left a few short years before her parents died. He’s created a new home for himself in Rifthold, styling himself the King of the Assassins. She’s been attempting to find him for years, to bring an end to a career that’s gone on for far too long already.”

Dorian sighed. “And I presume if I ask you’ll have absolutely no idea why a crown princess of Terrasen is involved in hunting an assassin, and didn’t simply leave it to her warrior cousin.”

“It isn’t my story to tell,” she replied, looking away.

“Of course it’s not,” he grumbled. “Apologies. I believe you when you imply that this wasn’t your idea and that you’re only involved out of necessity. But this puts me in a… delicate situation.” That was an understatement; if word of Aelin’s actions got out it could be disastrous.

“I understand,” she sighed. “Which is why I wanted to tell you what I could.”

Finally, he nodded. “And when do we expect her to return?”

“By morning,” she answered.

“Very well. I will do what I can to keep this quiet and out of the public eye. But I _will_ be asking Aelin about this later.” It was the best he could offer, and by the look on her face she understood completely.

Without another word, Dorian turned on his heel and returned to his office, asking a guard on the way to send Chaol to him. It appeared they had much to discuss.

* * *

“I detest this plan,” Aedion hissed in the direction of the hawk on the nearby roof as the sun began to set. “We should be going after her.”

The hawk took flight, circling the square before landing behind a box and turning into Whitethorn in a soft flash of concealed light. “We have to trust that Aelin can get herself free,” the warrior said. “We’re foreign actors in Adarlan’s capital city. If we break into that building without cause, it puts Aelin and her prince both in a difficult situation.”

It was interesting, how a subtle difference in Whitethorn’s tone was able to so clearly indicate that he wouldn’t mind causing a little trouble for the Adarlanian prince. “You don’t like Dorian,” he realized.

The statement earned him a scowl from his Fae companion. “I have no feelings one way or the other about the prince.”

“You realize my senses are better than a human’s, right? I could _hear_ that you don’t like him.”

Whitethorn’s response was the carefully crafted words of someone used to diplomacy. “I have no reason to dislike him. And we’re not talking about this. It’s almost time.”

 _Finally_. He’d hated sitting in this alley waiting for something to happen. “Time for what?”

“If Aelin is going to keep to her schedule, she’s about to make her next move.”

“You think she can get out of there without us?” It wasn’t that Aedion didn’t trust his cousin’s abilities. No, he knew she was a capable fighter and a powerful magic user. But he knew that she would be unlikely to use her magic unless absolutely needed, given the possibility of a tense political situation if she were recognized.

When he turned to face Whitethorn, the other male wore a small but ferocious grin, eyes positively glowing. “It’s not her I’m worried about,” he responded. “Anyone who crosses her on her way out will deserve exactly what she gives them.” And judging from the look on his face, Whitethorn would revel in their suffering.

The house they watched over was quiet, its occupants likely asleep given that their profession meant being out at all hours of the night. Aedion sighed. “I still don’t like this,” he admitted several minutes later.

“Given that I don’t like it either, I could hardly expect you to.” For all his posturing, and for all the strange glee that had come over him when he had spoke of what Aelin would do to those who crossed her, now the warrior was tense, eyes dark with what Aedion suspected was worry.

Even though the Fae beside him was sworn to a queen that was not his own, Aedion realized he wouldn’t rather have anyone else at his side for this particular mission. He had watched Whitethorn and Aelin grow close over the previous weeks, closer than anyone would’ve suspected. He didn’t know much about magic, but he suspected that sharing it as they could was a rare gift. If he could trust anyone to feel the same urgency he did to ensure she got out of this alive and as unharmed as possible, it would be this warrior.

Suddenly Whitethorn’s head tilted and his eyes narrowed, much like Aedion would have expected in the male’s other form. “What is it?” Aedion asked, only for the other male to gesture for his silence.

Soon enough, Aedion could hear it as well. There was shouting coming from inside the house, at least two masculine voices. He couldn’t make out the words, and based on Whitethorn’s expression he couldn’t either, but something had changed. As he watched, the warrior pulled two knives from his boots and twirled them gracefully around his fingers. It was a good choice, and Aedion went for his own knife as well, knowing his sword would be nearly useless in these cramped alleys. “We stay here,” Whitethorn was saying. “Those are male voices. I haven’t heard Aelin yet, which means they haven’t discovered her. We only go in if it’s absolutely necessary. When she leaves, she’ll come this way. If anyone else makes it this far…” The grim smile on his face indicated their fate clearly enough.

Three men burst through the door of the building, exchanging panicked instructions before departing in different directions, and Aedion and Whitethorn crouched behind a cart to conceal their presence. One man ran for the alley they had chosen for their hiding place, and before Aedion could do anything the Fae warrior was already in motion, clutching the man to him in a twisted parody of a lover’s embrace before drawing a blade across his throat. “They’ll notice when this one doesn’t come back,” he whispered as he dragged the man behind their cart. “We don’t have much longer.”

A slim figure stumbled out of the door next, and Aedion grinned. “We don’t need much longer. That’s Aelin.”

She was almost unrecognizable, golden hair turned red with blood and darkened with ash, but there was no mistaking the eyes that met his, pained but determined. Then those eyes shifted away and he knew she had seen Whitethorn standing beside him. From the sharp intake of breath at his left he knew the warrior had seen her as well, and soon he had abandoned all talk of secrecy to cross the small crossing in several quick strides.

Aelin moved, trying to meet him halfway, but her motions were fumbling and clumsy. She said something to the warrior that Aedion couldn’t quite hear, smiling up at him…

And then as he watched, she collapsed into the male’s arms.

Whitethorn quickly lifted her, carrying her into the alley and out of sight. By the time they reached Aedion she was already unconscious, either from pain or from exhaustion. Judging by her face, Aedion suspected it was a combination of both. “Get her out of here and back to the palace,” he said quietly, adjusting his grip on his knife. “I’ll stay here and make sure you’re not followed.”

Green eyes met his, clearly searching for something. Aedion didn’t know what the warrior was looking for, but finally he nodded and adjusted his grip on Aelin.

Before he could get far, though, Aedion called to him again. “Oh, and Whitethorn?”

“Yes?” he replied, expression tight with concern.

“Take care of her.” And then Aedion turned his attention back to the house with a grim smile. He didn’t know what its inhabitants may have done to his cousin, but he had absolutely no problems with delivering justice to any of them foolish enough to come his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all so much for making it this far with me!
> 
> We've cleared 50,000 words with this update, and I am absolutely blown away that this little story has come so far already. We're really starting to pick up now, so if you made me guess I'd say this will probably be between 75k and 80k words when all is said and done.
> 
> ...we'll see if I regret that guess later, I guess. Lol.


	13. Chapter Twelve

_Aelin took a shuddering breath where she hung from the wall, where she had been left after Arobynn’s lackey had deemed the pain he’d inflicted to be sufficient for now. Her back burned with searing pain, and even if she were able to shift she knew she would not be able to heal any of the open wounds the whip had left thanks to the iron that held her._

_She allowed herself a brief moment to steel her nerves, eyes screwed shut against the agony, before focusing on her bonds._

_The iron was fastened securely to the wall by a set of hooks, and there wasn’t enough give in the chains for her to slip the links free. But the cold sweat that had begun to cover her about halfway through the whipping had given enough moisture that the cuffs had slid further along her hands. Carefully, she gathered her fingers as closely as she could and attempted to slip free._

_The cuff bit into her palm, still too tight for such a maneuver without more drastic measures._

_Aelin sighed. Of all the lessons she had learned from Sam, this was the one she hadn’t looked forward to ever using. A careful alignment of the cuff against the joint at the base of her thumb allowed her to apply pressure, and she gritted her teeth and pulled down hard._

_With a sickening pop, her thumb dislocated enough to allow her to slip her hand free. Applying the same tactic to her opposite hand, she gasped in a combination of agony and relief as her arms were able to once more relax at her sides. Quickly, she set the joints as quickly as she could and reached for her magic._

_She could feel more of the power now that only her legs were bound, but as muted as her access was she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to control the power enough to free her legs. The old fashioned way it was, then._

_As she had hoped, whoever had searched her had missed the single hairpin she’d tucked away where her hair was thickest at the back of her head. She may not have been able to melt her way free of the chains, but one of the first things Sam had done was teach her how to pick locks. The locks on the cuffs were simple, Arobynn clearly never having expected her to get this far._

_It wasn’t the first time she’d been underestimated. It likely wouldn’t be the last, either, but it would be the last time Arobynn Hamel would ever be able to do so._

_Shaking her head, Aelin made short work of the locks holding the iron to her ankles and then carefully stood, rolling her shoulders and flexing her knees. Her magic surged back into her grasp, and she turned her attention for a brief moment to healing what she could of her injuries, strengthening the joints she had damaged and knitting the skin of her back together with a grimace. It was far from perfect, but it would hold, and that was all she needed._

_The locks holding the door shut were more intricate than those that had held her in chains, but she persisted and soon enough the door opened onto a nondescript hallway. An open door to her left held supplies, clearly a storeroom of sorts for the assassins who resided here, and she crept into the room with glee._

_Her own knives were most likely gone forever at this point, but she found several that would serve her well enough. In the corner stood a pair of boots that were two sizes too big, but Aelin slipped into them nonetheless. Her own shirt was in tatters, but there wasn’t a replacement close to hand and she had to keep moving._

_Judging by the light, she was in a sort of basement in the building. A staircase was in the corner, and she quickly scaled it. Arobynn wouldn’t sleep in the basement with his lackeys, and while he might keep an office there the truly important documents would be kept close to him, in a place no one else could enter lightly._

_Voices sounded from around the corner, a low murmur and a feminine giggle, and Aelin slipped into a doorway, carefully drawing one of her stolen knives. Quick steps passed Aelin’s hiding place and sounded down the stairs, and the man chuckled and slipped into a room down the hall._

_Aelin smirked. How polite of Arobynn to lead her to him._

_As she watched from the doorway, he pulled out two small stacks of papers from a small desk beside his bed. He lit a candle as if to read by, and then lifted the first of the papers to the flame._

_With a single thought, the candle sputtered and died. Arobynn frowned, moving to relight it, but immediately she put it out again. Before he could turn to face her, she crept up behind him and drew her blade across his throat._

_Arobynn collapsed before her, hands clutching at the wound as the light left silver eyes cold with rage. Blood seeped into the floor beneath him and stained the ends of his auburn hair, but Aelin couldn’t find it within herself to regret it. Not when she had been planning this for so long._

_She didn’t have time to sort through the stacks of papers he had removed from the desk, but a quick glance told her it was the information he had dangled in front of her as a cruel taunt. She quickly grabbed both stacks, stuffing them into her shirt before tucking her shirt into her trousers. It wasn’t perfect, but it would hold until she could get back to the palace._

_Her stolen boots left prints through the pool of blood on the floor, and she allowed them to, walking into one of the other rooms deliberately before carefully removing them again and slipping back down the stairs. With any luck, one of the other assassins would be blamed for the death of their king and no one would look for the escaping princess._

_Shouts from the upper level told her the murder had been discovered just as she found the main door. Knowing she wouldn’t have enough time to run for it and hide in the slums outside, she carefully tucked herself away in a small closet and listened as three men began a hunt for the killer of their king._

_Several minutes passed, and Aelin found herself fighting off exhaustion as they briefly planned. She had to stay awake, just long enough to get back to the palace before Rowan and Aedion could worry too much, or worse, come looking for her._

_Finally, the men departed on their search, and Aelin counted one additional minute silently before slipping back out of the closet and out into the streets. Turning into an alley, she made to run but stumbled and fell._

_As she fell, warm arms caught her and she was surrounded by the scent of pine and snow, the scent of home and her wonderful, perfect—_

_Aelin awoke with a gasp._

* * *

In the privacy of his own thoughts, Rowan could freely admit that his life had officially been left in shambles. It was something he would never be able to confess out loud, but it was becoming more and more evident with each passing day.

It had been three days since they had recovered Aelin, and she had been unconscious for the entirety of those three days. He hadn’t been able to ask her about what had come to pass while they were parted, but the scars across her back told a story he wasn’t certain he could bear to hear.

He would hide his reaction from her, of course, now that he had had some time for the shock to wear off. One good lecture about proper battlefield healing and she would never need to know the cold fear that had slammed into him when the healers had turned her over while assessing the damage.

Since she had at least partially healed herself, it was impossible to tell exactly how many injuries he couldn’t see. What _was_ evident on her back was a set of three scars, roughly aligned with each other and stretching from her shoulders to her hips. The wounds had been deep enough, and there had been enough fibers from her torn shirt ground into the wounds, that they had healed improperly when she had hastily pulled on her magic. It was possible that the healers in Doranelle could have saved the appearance of her back, but those here in Rifthold had said they would need to slice her skin open once more to properly clean the wounds and seal them.

Rowan didn’t know, _couldn’t_ know, what Aelin’s wishes would be in that regard, and so they had left the scars and focused on what they _could_ fix, bumps and bruises and the joints of her fingers all healing under their care.

From the moment she had returned, Rowan hadn’t left her side. He knew logically that this was not his place, and yet he couldn’t bear to leave, not even to venture back to his own room just down the hall. Worse, the others seemed to simply _accept_ this, for reasons unknown to him. Either that, or they were simply terrified of how he would react to someone asking him to leave. He couldn’t be certain.

Aedion stopped by the door once every day, usually in the morning, to ask if there had been any changes. Rowan knew his replies were growing more terse each time he asked, but Aedion seemed to understand it was all out of concern for the fact that Aelin had yet to awaken. The shifter had stopped by once, on the first day, and he’d had an easier time allowing her to enter and do what she could to help the team of healers. However, she seemed to have noticed the tension in his jaw or in his shoulders that felt like it was becoming a permanent addition to his posture, for she had yet to return.

He didn’t know if it was Aedion, Lysandra, or the lead healer, a girl he thought was named Sorscha, who had been keeping the prince away. He had only felt the young man approach once, but he hadn’t even made it past the door. It was just as well; Rowan could admit, if only to himself, that he had no idea how he would handle the prince coming into this room at the moment.

The team of healers had left a little over an hour ago, the lead healer glancing over at Aelin with concern in her hazel eyes before admitting that there was nothing further they could do. Aelin simply had to rest and recover, and she would awaken when she was ready.

Rowan liked to think he could be patient when the need arose. However, waiting for Aelin to wake up was agonizing. A part of it was the guilt eating away at him every time he recalled those scars across her back; he should’ve argued more with her, found a plan where it could’ve been him instead. A few more scars on his already-marred skin would be of little concern. The same scars on her caused his heart to leap into his throat.

That thought led into the other thought that kept nagging at him, a thought that he should’ve realized long ago but simultaneously wished he had never had. It was unlikely to amount to anything in the end; in fact, it was far more likely to only cause unnecessary harm. However, now that he had had this realization it would be impossible for him to simply forget all about it.

One didn’t fall in love with a princess every day, after all.

Rowan sighed, glancing over at her again from where he sat at her desk. If only she would wake up, he thought, he’d be able to leave. He could go back to his own room, catch up on his reports, and do his utmost to forget her before he had to look his queen in the eye and give a verbal report.

Even as he thought it he knew it would be hopeless. He had to try, though. He couldn’t lie to his queen, and if this made it into his report, or if she asked him directly…

It could mean the end of everything Aelin was working for. He already knew he would never see her again; it would be impossible to hide that they were _carranam_ , and Maeve was unlikely to be pleased at his connection to a foreign princess. If she ever learned that connection ran deeper, it was only the tenuous shield of political connections that would save Aelin. Even Aelin’s own distant familial tie to the dark queen was unlikely to change her mind on the matter. And so he would do his best to forget, even though he knew deep down he never would. It was her only chance at a future, and he wasn’t selfish enough to deny her that, not anymore.

His musings were interrupted by an unlikely source as Aelin gasped and sat upright, blankets that had once covered her tumbling down to her waist.

* * *

“What is it?” Dorian asked as the door to his personal office opened, wincing at the sharpness of his own voice.

When he glanced over at the door, he saw Chaol standing there, both hands raised in a gesture of surrender as a grimace crossed his face. “I have information, if you have a moment.”

Dorian sighed and gestured to a seat, and watched as his friend sat. “You have my apologies,” he finally said. “I know it wasn’t your intention to mislead me unnecessarily. But next time one of my guests almost causes an international incident, I’d like some warning.”

Chaol nodded his reply. “I miscalculated. I thought it would be better if you didn’t know, so you could say without lying that you weren’t involved.”

“I understand why you did it,” Dorian admitted. “Now. You said you have information for me?”

Chaol produced a set of papers from their hiding place inside his tunic. “I joined the investigation of the murder of Arobynn Hamel, per your request. Everything Aelin told us was true, though she left out the specific nature of his crimes as well as her own involvement. She’s not a known suspect in the official investigation, either; she covered her tracks well.”

“So he _was_ actually from Terrasen once?”

Chaol nodded. “He left Terrasen about two years before her parents died, based on the records I could find. There aren’t many records as to why, nor are there indications of any criminal record in Terrasen. It’s possible our records are incomplete, of course.”

Dorian nodded; while their kingdoms were friendly, records of criminal proceedings rarely made international news. It was completely possible that this Arobynn Hamel had simply passed through unnoticed.

Chaol continued his report. “Once he arrived in Rifthold, he embedded himself within the slums and established a network of assassins, which his own records suggest had dealings both in Adarlan and in neighboring countries. It’s not certain whether he began as an assassin himself, or whether he simply wielded influence. What we _do_ know is that his investments in the Vaults as well as several pleasure houses were substantial, and that it’s likely he had influence across most of the Undercity.”

Dorian lifted one of the papers Chaol had delivered; a quick glance at it revealed financial records. “So,” he mused, “what does a King of Assassins in Adarlan have to do with a Crown Princess of Terrasen?”

“I couldn’t find any proof of a connection,” Chaol admitted, “but I have theories.”

“You always have theories, friend,” Dorian teased. “Tell me this, then. Did this Hamel ever send anyone back to his own native country?”

“Once.” Another set of papers landed on the desk. “These are his records on one Sam Cortland, who he sent to Terrasen and who he had killed six months after his arrival.”

“Interesting. And do the records state what he was supposed to do in Terrasen?”

“That’s the strange thing,” Chaol replied. “The records are incomplete, he references documents that weren’t found in this file. What we do know is that he collected reports from various spies around Orynth who couldn’t report themselves in writing. That’s a job that would have taken a week, however, and he stayed for six months. He references orders from a foreign power, one that paid him a substantial fee, but the orders are absent from the record.”

Dorian frowned. “I don’t like that a criminal in our own capital was taking orders from an unspecified foreign power.”

“Nor do I. It’s possible Aelin would know more, but she’s still recovering and that warrior she brought with her isn’t letting anyone but the healers in.”

Not for the first time, Dorian wondered how she had obtained such fierce loyalty from one of Queen Maeve’s blood-sworn warriors. He hadn’t had many dealings personally with any of them, and had only briefly met this one, but their reputation preceded them. That she had one so fiercely devoted to her…

Dorian sat back in his chair, turning that thought over in his head. Yes, of course. If he harbored romantic feelings toward Aelin it would certainly explain the protectiveness, as well as his subtle hostility toward Dorian himself. It was incredibly unlikely that he knew the nature of their arrangement, as surely Aelin would know better than to let such an important secret slip to a foreign agent, however friendly he was toward her.

Dorian smiled, though there was no humor in it. What a pretty little mess Aelin had gotten them all into.

Finally, he spoke. “I have no interest in risking injury to obtain immediate answers, so instead we’ll pay her another visit when she’s more fully recovered.”

Chaol’s brow rose with amusement, laughter glimmering in brown eyes. “Another visit? You mean you survived your first attempt?”

“Only by the grace of the gods,” Dorian chuckled. “Sorscha stopped me before I could reach the room.”

Chaol sighed. “You know you’ll be caught eventually, right? This is a terrible idea and you know it.”

Dorian grinned. He had met Sorscha purely by chance, seeking the healer out in advance of his departure for Orynth that had changed so much for all involved. It had been the first time he’d left Rifthold, and he had sought her advice for concealing his magic among so many other magic users. What had started as clandestine meetings in the healers’ wing to create and then perfect a tonic of iron to mute his powers had only recently developed into secret kisses traded in dark corners.

He hadn’t told Aelin yet, not when there was so precious little to tell and not when secrecy was so critical. He knew she had proposed their arrangement out of necessity rather than any kind of affection, and that she had no real intention to marry him, but he still couldn’t be certain of her reaction.

Besides, in all likelihood this fling with Sorscha would remain just that. No one else had ever caught his eye for longer than a few months, after all.

Dorian sighed. Even in his own head the words rang false. Perhaps it wasn’t only Aelin who had gotten them into a mess. Chaol was still looking at him and waiting for an answer, though, so he managed a smile for his friend. “That’s never stopped me before and you know it.”

The declaration earned him a weary sigh in response. “You know, I would love if we could have just _one month_ where you don’t cause trouble. Just one month. Is that too much to ask?” A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips, however, and Dorian grinned in return, thankful for the return to some element of normalcy.

Now if only Aelin would wake up, so they could work to resolve this tangled web of secrets into which their lives had been woven.

* * *

The first thing Aelin saw was a pair of concerned green eyes carefully studying her face. “ _Rowan_ ,” she breathed, watching as the worry melted into relief.

“How are you feeling?” His brows furrowed in concern once more as he carefully studied her face.

Carefully Aelin rolled her shoulders and twisted at the hips, pondering her response. “A little stiff,” she finally decided, “but not in pain. How long was I out?”

“Three days,” he replied.

Aelin sat back against the pillows, stunned. “Three days?”

“The healers rendered you unconscious magically when I brought you to them,” he explained. “They said it would offer them the best chance of healing your back. That reminds me, we need to have a discussion about how battlefield healing _actually_ works if you intend to keep doing it.”

Aelin stood carefully as he watched, taking slow and careful steps until she arrived at the mirror beside her closet and could inspect her own back.

Three wicked scars met her gaze when she was finally able to look, still slightly reddened, though they were already fading into what would eventually become pale white lines across her skin. The centers were slightly raised, harsh ridges against what was once smooth skin.

Aelin grimaced, fingertips brushing over one of the lines. Darrow would be furious with her, she was certain. Not only for engaging in behavior that would leave her so permanently marked, but for the entire escapade in the first place. She’d needed to see it through, though, so she found herself without regret.

Well. Without much regret. She would have to alter several of her favorite gowns, and that would be devastating later. It would also make finding a partner later much more difficult if this arrangement with Dorian ended with them both parting as agreed; few men were interested in women as scarred as she was now.

Then again, she supposed that she wouldn’t want to join herself to someone who would look at her scars with disgust anyway. Perhaps it was for the best that she could use them to weed out lesser suitors. Perhaps she wouldn’t alter her gowns, after all.

Rowan cleared his throat, and when she glanced over at him he was carefully looking away. “The healers said there was a chance they could remove the scars,” he said, “though it would have required slicing your skin open again. I didn’t want to make that decision for you.”

“I’m keeping them,” she decided. “A reminder, of everything that led up to this moment.”

A tiny smile, then, though he still wasn’t looking at her. “I thought you might say that.”

Aelin frowned. “Is there something else wrong with me? You haven’t been able to look at me since I got up.” She turned to face her own reflection, only to pause when she realized she was completely bare before him. Suddenly, she laughed. “You can’t possibly be embarrassed. You’re, what, over three centuries old? Surely you’ve seen all of this before, several times over. Gods, you’ve even seen _me_ , when I almost burned out.”

“There is a difference,” he said primly, “between healing in an emergent situation and now.”

Aelin shook her head and slipped into a robe. “Better?”

Rowan shrugged and opened a drawer of her desk. “These were on your person when you found us,” he said, gesturing at the papers she had stolen. “I’m assuming they’re of some importance, or else you wouldn’t have taken them.”

“Arobynn implied as much. I didn’t get the chance to read them.” She wasn’t certain she wanted to, either; knowing he had killed Sam on the orders of another was one matter, she had always suspected that, but her own _parents_?

She had heard the whispers among the healers, of course, that their illness hadn’t behaved as it should. Rhoe and Evalin Galathynius had been young and otherwise healthy when sickness claimed them, and they should’ve had more strength than they’d had.

She had never thought to attribute their deaths to another, though. Most poisons would have been immediately detected by the royal healers, and they had found nothing.

It was entirely possible, of course, that Arobynn had simply been taunting her. A man who sought the level of power he craved and went about obtaining it the way he’d done so would have no problem with lying to achieve his goals. He’d spent their entire conversation blending truths and lies expertly, until it was difficult to tell which was which.

Only the papers would hold the truth, and yet she hesitated. Did she truly want to know? Would it be easier to simply go on believing that they had been taken from her by natural means?

Even as her doubts made themselves known, however, she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she had her answers. She scanned through the first of the letters, this one requesting that Arobynn send an agent to meet her. “It’s not signed,” she muttered, “and the seal has no pattern.”

When she glanced up at Rowan, the color had left his face. “You recognize these?” she asked.

He nodded shortly, the motion jerky and rough.

“But you can’t tell me who they’re from.” Which left only one possibility; there was only one person he was sworn to protect above all others.

Rowan sighed. “If you’re going to read those now, I should leave.”

He was right, of course; it was better for all involved if he didn’t know the contents of the letters. After all, his queen couldn’t force him to reveal information he did not possess. She frowned nonetheless. “It can wait,” she protested.

“Can it truly?”

Aelin scowled. “Probably not,” she admitted. “I just don’t like the thought of you leaving so soon.”

It was silly, of course; he would only be one room away, and she could always go see him later. Still, she couldn’t help but wish he could stay longer.

She looked up once more and frowned; while she had been lost in her own thoughts, the warrior had quietly slipped out of her room, removing the need for her to decide. He would likely tell at least Aedion that she was awake, which meant she had precious little time.

Deciding she could always argue with Rowan later about making decisions for her, she turned her attention back to the letters. “What have you been getting up to, my dear aunt?” she muttered as she began to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading this far! Hope you enjoy.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Aedion paced in the hallway before Aelin’s door, fingers harshly combing through his own golden hair. Whitethorn had stopped by briefly earlier and let him know she had awoken, which meant he needed to visit, needed to speak with her.

That said, he still wasn’t entirely certain what he was going to say to her.

The first thought that had come to mind was to forbid her from ever taking such risks with her own life again. He’d relished that thought for several moments, and it was still sorely tempting, but he knew even without asking that she would never listen to it. Aelin would never be content to rule from the sidelines; no, she would be a queen that would lead by example, never shying away from even the most difficult task.

He’d know that for years now, and he loved her for it. Once this mess was over and she could be crowned, he intended to swear it on her blood and his for all to know. It was difficult, though, to accept that her dedication would occasionally lead her to be injured as she had been.

He hadn’t seen the marks himself, of course, not being stupid enough to get between Whitethorn and Aelin in such a delicate moment, but he’d gotten reports from the healers. He was elated and proud and terrified all at once every time he thought of what he’d heard; elated because he served someone so strong, proud because she’d taken everything he’d taught her and put it to uses he never would’ve imagined, terrified by the thought of her ever doing something this risky again.

He was still debating exactly what he would say when the door opened, Aelin peeking back out at him. “Are you going to come in, cousin, or are you going to wear a hole through the floor?” she teased.

He quickly entered her room, and she closed the door again behind him. “Before you say anything, we have much to discuss,” she said quickly. “And I have both forgiveness and a favor to ask.”

Aedion sat quietly at her desk, struck dumb by the admission and knowing in that moment that his cousin and queen already had his forgiveness, regardless of what she said next.

“There’s been a lot I have kept from you over the past few years,” she admitted. “You know it, I know it. Perhaps in time I’ll be able to tell you about it. But… for now, know that what I’ve done closed a door on a chapter of my life I can never forget, but would just as soon move past.”

Aedion nodded his understanding. “I hope you’ll find it within yourself to tell me one day. You know I’ll listen to anything you have to say.”

She looked at him from where she stood beside her bed, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I know, cousin,” she said. “Perhaps another day. Only… only Rowan knows everything, now. Even Lysandra only knows a piece of the story. Everyone else is dead.”

“So you did kill him, then. The criminal you set out to catch.” He hadn’t truly doubted it, but hearing it from her was different from reading reports.

Aelin nodded, looking away with a grimace. “It had to be done.”

Aedion crossed the room then, tugging her into an embrace. “I wish you hadn’t felt you needed to do it alone, is all,” he said, soft but fierce. “I read the reports. I don’t disagree with your assessment, but I wish I could’ve helped.”

“You did, though,” she said into his chest. “You were there to find me. Rowan says you made sure we weren’t followed.”

“I did. But you know I would’ve gone in with you, right?”

“I know,” she replied. “It’s why I couldn’t tell you beforehand. I had to do this alone. Besides, if you had gone in all of Erilea would know it was a move by Terrasen against someone who was ostensibly an Adarlanian citizen.”

Aedion nodded. Now that the situation had been resolved, he could understand the reasons she had acted as she did. That hadn’t made it any easier to bear in the moment, though.

She continued to speak. “I know we haven’t openly spoken of our future roles, but I’m certain by this point you know I’d like to bestow the honor of the blood oath on you.”

Aedion felt a thrill rush through him at the confirmation of his hopes. “I’d hoped to hear you say that, someday. That isn’t usually done until after the coronation, though, so why are you addressing it now?”

Aelin sighed. “The events that led us here were part of a bigger scheme. I’m working now to put all of the pieces together, but in the end I may need to give the oath to another as well. I know that’s not how it’s been done in Terrasen, and I’m not going to set out to do it, but…”

“You’re talking about Whitethorn,” he realized. “Do you think your oath could break Queen Maeve’s?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Much knowledge about the blood oath has been lost, at this point. But if that’s the only way… well. I wanted to make certain that you could at least get it first, if you wanted, in the event that you can’t be the only one.”

Aedion frowned, uncertain of how to feel. On the one hand, he understood her desire to free the warrior from a bond that had revealed itself to be an entrapment. On the other, a royal of Terrasen giving the blood oath to more than one sworn fighter hadn’t been done for centuries.

“I’ll take it once you’re crowned, and not one moment sooner,” he decided. “If it comes to pass that you must give it to another, I can learn to live with that, but the ceremonial oath is mine.”

Aelin finally smiled at him. “It’s always been yours. You know that, right? Ever since we were children.”

“I’m glad to hear you say it,” he admitted, finally releasing her and sitting back down at her desk.

“There’s more we must discuss. About the coming weeks, and about what I think is likely to come to pass based on what I’ve learned.”

Aedion leaned forward. “Tell me what I need to know.”

* * *

Dorian smiled as Aelin stepped into his office. “I had hoped you would come to see me,” he said as she closed the door behind her. “I am glad to see you seem to be recovering well from your… ordeal.”

“Chaol tells me he had to tell you everything,” she replied softly. “I’m afraid I must apologize for my deception. I told him you were better off not knowing or being involved.”

So they were getting straight to the point, then. Dorian could work with that. “Tell me, was this entire courtship simply to gain access to Rifthold?”

“No!” Aelin looked horrified. “No, it was convenient that the trail led here, but if that had been the only reason I would simply have asked to visit you. I did come to speak with you about our arrangement, though.” Her fingers twisted nervously at the ring he noticed she was wearing on her thumb, the ring he had given her upon her arrival. “I also came to ask a favor.”

Dorian leaned forward, curious. “What part of our arrangement did you wish to discuss?”

Aelin glanced at the door behind her and then smiled sadly at him. “Do you think we could’ve been happy, in another life?”

It was a strange question, and Dorian wasn’t exactly certain how to respond. “Is there a particular reason you’ve been thinking about this?”

“The past few days have come with a lot of realizations for me, chief among them that I no longer wish to live a lie.” At this revelation, she twisted the ring off of her thumb altogether.

Dorian breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods,” he muttered.

Aelin lifted an eyebrow, though her own relief shone in her eyes. “Would it truly have been such a nightmare, to be blessed by my company for the rest of our lives?”

“Terrible, I’m certain, though I have a feeling I’ll be burdened with your company regardless,” he teased.

“I was hoping you’d say that. You truly have been a friend this entire time, and I don’t want to lose that when I return home.” 

As he watched, she moved to set the ring between them on his desk. Before she could, though, he rested a hand on top of hers. “Keep it. I meant it as a gift for you knowing that in a perfect world we would both be going our separate ways around this time.”

Aelin glanced down at their hands and then back up at him before throwing herself around the desk and wrapping her arms around him.

To his credit, Dorian only hesitated out of surprise for a moment before returning her embrace. After a few moments, he ventured to speak. “I believe you mentioned you had a favor to ask, and I presume the favor isn’t telling my parents that we aren’t to wed after all.”

Aelin laughed. “No, but I think you might enjoy it all the same. Shall we venture toward the library? I’ll tell you all about it as we go.”

Dorian chuckled and offered his arm. “I already like this favor.”

They were about halfway to the library when Aelin began to speak. “As you know, I only have a few short weeks left in Adarlan. That’s not a lot of time, and I need to work as quickly as possible while involving only those I can trust.”

“I’m honored to be considered among that select group,” he replied.

“You should be,” she grinned back. “I recently came into knowledge that threatens not only my kingdom, but yours as well. I’m afraid I can’t provide too many details right now, as I have only my suspicions and I do not wish to accuse anyone without proof.”

“Of course not. So you wish me to help you obtain proof.”

Aelin nodded. “I need to find the oldest histories you possess on Doranelle, and I need to know all I can about the different bonds the Fae possess and create, including the blood oath. You know the libraries here better than I, and I know you would enjoy a chance to spend more time in there.”

“Are you certain we wouldn’t work out?” Dorian teased. “You truly offer me the best things.”

Rather than respond verbally, Aelin turned them into a little alcove and kissed him.

He responded automatically, one hand settling on her waist and the other sliding into golden hair. They pressed together for a few short moments before breaking apart at the sound of a startled intake of breath and hurried footsteps fading into the distance, Aelin glancing up at him with a wry smile. “You’re good at that,” she murmured. “But if I had to venture a guess, I would presume you didn’t feel anything either.”

It was true. Despite there having been nothing objectively wrong with the contact, he couldn’t help but compare it to the few stolen moments he’d had with Sorscha. What was more interesting to him, though, was the last word she had spoken. “So you found someone you would rather be kissing?”

A rare blush graced Aelin’s features then, and she looked away. “There’s very little that can come of it right now.”

“Why not?” Dorian asked as he leaned against the wall. “Your warrior prince certainly seems very interested in you.”

His gamble paid off with the reward of her turquoise eyes going wide and her hand physically covering his mouth. He had guessed correctly, then. “Quiet,” she hissed. “Have you no sense of tact?”

Dorian grinned beneath her hand before pulling it away. “It’s not one of my best talents, no.”

Aelin grumbled wordlessly in response and dragged him into the library. “If you have time to mock me, you have time to make yourself useful. Where do we begin?”

And so they dove into the shelves of Rifthold’s library in search of answers, Dorian leading her into the darkest corners where the oldest and least-read tomes were kept and where they would remain for most of the day.

* * *

Several weeks passed, and soon it was time for Aelin and her escort of friends to leave Adarlan. She had spent most of her days with Dorian, reading through every book she could get her hands on that might grant her insight to her problems. Her evenings were spent with Aedion, carefully planning her next move while Lysandra prepared Evangeline for bed.

She had seen precious little of Rowan since she had killed Arobynn. She had been so busy learning as much as she could in the time she was given, and he appeared to be avoiding her as well. She couldn’t be certain of why, and every time it occurred to her to simply visit her _carranam_ and demand answers he was conspicuously absent. She was trying not to let it bother her; after all, he was certainly preparing for their inevitable separation just as much as she was. Perhaps reducing the amount of time he spent with her was his idea of easing their parting later on.

Thankfully, between reading and planning and wondering what on earth was going on with Rowan she had had precious little time to attempt to sleep. It was truly for the best; ever since the events of several weeks prior she had had a difficult relationship with sleep and with dreams. Besides, the less time she spent sleeping the more time she had to compile the results of her research.

The day before she was to leave Rifthold, Aelin slipped into town and paid for messages to be sent to Orynth as well as to several of her friends. They deserved to be updated on the dissolution of her engagement to Dorian, and she suspected she would require aid from several of them in the days to come. She also left a copy of her summary of all she and Dorian had learned on the prince’s desk, knowing he would be as interested as she in the results of their work.

Lysandra had already assisted her with packing, and so she found herself with nothing left to distract herself after the evening meal. Before she knew it, she found herself dozing in the warm light of the candle she’d lit at her desk.

Some time later, after the candle had long since blown out, Aelin awoke with a scream and the memory of lines of fire along her back.

Trembling, she made her way to the couch before the fireplace, setting it ablaze even though it was the height of summer and she didn’t need the warmth. The soft crackling soothed her nerves, as did the material of the blanket she drew around her shoulders. She was so entranced by the sounds of the fire that she almost missed the sound of her door opening.

Rowan stood in the doorway, concern and hesitation warring on his face. “Are you… I heard…”

Before he could either finish his question or think better of it and leave, Aelin launched herself at him.

Rowan’s arms came around her waist, though the surprise on his face suggested this was more automatic and less deliberate. Before he could rethink his response, she burrowed closer and rested her face against the muscles of his neck and shoulder, delicately inhaling the pine-and-snow scent that rose to meet her and reminded her of home.

She felt more than heard him speak as he finally found words. “What’s wrong?”

Rather than directly answer his question, she asked one of her own. “Do you ever stop seeing them in your dreams? The things that happen to you. The things you did. The people you did them to, or the people who suffered because of you.”

Rowan sighed, his arms tightening around her in response. “Do you want an honest answer, or a comforting one?”

That alone was answer enough, but she replied nonetheless. “I think by this point we’ve agreed to be honest with each other, don’t you?”

As he led her back to the couch, the warrior was clearly gathering his thoughts. Finally, with troubled green eyes, he said, “They never leave you altogether. Or if they do, they haven’t left me yet. But it does get easier, in time. The dreams come less frequently. I find it helps to remind yourself of the end goal. Yes, you killed an assassin king. But given the same knowledge and the same set of decisions, I know you would do it again. And for what it’s worth, I think you made the right decision.”

As he spoke, she felt the nervous trembling leave her, only to be replaced by exhaustion. “I’m so tired,” she said simply.

“You know you could come to any of us if you’re having trouble sleeping, right?” There was a moment’s pause and then his fingers were in her hair, delicately carding through the golden waves.

She sighed happily and relaxed into the touch. “Aedion’s got a child keeping him up at night now. He hardly needs any help from me.” And Rowan had been doing whatever it was that had been keeping him away from her, though she chose not to bring it up. Not now, when he was so close and everything felt so right.

“Surely your prince would be all too happy to assist.” There were the faintest traces of disdain curling around his soft accented voice, almost too faint for her to detect. Was Dorian correct? Was it possible that Rowan…?

Hesitantly, hardly daring to believe she was actually doing so, she lifted a hand and traced a trembling fingertip along the swirls of the tattoo that marked the side of his face. When she was close to his ear, she let her touch graze over the delicate point she found there before skimming down to his jaw.

His hand caught hers, long fingers wrapping around her wrist, and when she glanced at his face his eyes were flat with anger. “Don’t touch me like that,” he snarled, and she snatched her hand away as though she had been burned.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Gods, Rowan, I’m so sorry.”

But he didn’t reply, except to quietly stalk out of the room and carefully close the door behind him.

Aelin stared after him, as though focusing on the door could make him come back to her. How had she misread the situation so terribly? Where had everything gone so wrong? She’d been certain, _so_ certain, that if she’d approached him she would be welcomed, or even gently let down, but this…

Aelin shook her head. On second thought, she wasn’t certain why she had ever expected anything different. He’d lived for several centuries longer than her, and already had and lost a perfect mate. By comparison, how was a demi-Fae who had several years before finding out if she would Settle into immortality supposed to compare?

Despite the sorrow and rejection swirling around in her core, though, she was only all the more resolved to see her plan through.

She only hoped Rowan could forgive her eventually.

* * *

The moment the door closed behind him, Rowan shifted, sending a breeze to open the nearest window before he flew through it. The currents of wind rushing high above the palace were a match for his state of mind, all fast-paced panic and swirling eddies of confusion, and he circled the palace several times before soaring along the river nearby.

It didn’t take him long at all to realize that his reaction to her touch had been a mistake, and not just because it had stopped something he’d been quietly longing for. Allowing her to continue would’ve been the simplest way to follow the orders his queen had sent and disrupt her courtship with Prince Dorian, even if it had broken what was left of his heart along the way.

His hawk let out a shrill cry as he dove for the water and then quickly climbed again, high enough to remain out of sight to the humans below. He had been doing a terrible job of following that order, truth be told, and he knew he would be punished for it once he returned home to Doranelle. Once his queen learned that he had spent several weeks avoiding Aelin and her prince, all because he had seen them kissing on his way to the library and been unable to control his own reaction to the sight…

Another cry into the night that would forever go unanswered issued from his beak. He was supposed to be better than this, stronger than this, more controlled than this. He should have allowed the night to continue, to whatever end. He was under no illusions that a future queen such as Aelin could possibly actually want a battered and scarred fighter like him for anything longer than a handful of nights, but a few careful hints of such activities could have easily ruined her courtship and allowed his orders to be fulfilled. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it, had panicked instead of allowing the princess to use him for whatever unstated and misdirected desire she’d felt.

He’d thought he had long since given up self-preservation as an instinct, from the moment he had discovered Lyria’s death and proceeded to lose himself as well. Perhaps he still had; the consequences of running away in the moment to protect a heart he’d long thought permanently frosted over would be severe, painful, and likely unending.

Would it be worth it in the end? What had Aelin even hoped to achieve with such a gesture? Was she simply seeking company to forget her fears and regrets for a night? If she was, why hadn’t she gone to her prince for comfort? Was it that she hadn’t planned on seeking someone out, but he had made himself available?

Rowan dove for the river again, hoping the winds rushing past him would take his spiral of confused thoughts with them. He didn’t know what to do next, he realized. He would have to return with Aelin to Terrasen for at least a few more weeks, until he deemed her training to be complete.

That was perhaps the one thing he could be genuinely proud of in this whole situation. Once she had gotten past whatever had been blocking her from shifting, her powers had blossomed. After weeks of careful tutelage her control was almost everything he could ask for, especially from a fire-wielder. As she did not have the guarantee of centuries to perfect her craft, there was only but so much more he could reasonably expect her to learn. Not to mention that he was hardly the best teacher for control in purely academic settings such as those she would likely find herself in. No, he had hardened his magic into a weapon just as he had trained his body to be one. For all her appreciation of the art of fighting, and for all of her evident skill, it was likely that she would never see true battle.

It was a shame, in a way, that a warrior-queen such as herself would find herself so leashed. Perhaps her prince would see fit to allow her to handle any conflicts they found themselves embroiled in, seeing that her skills with a blade far outmatched his.

Regardless of her future, he would have to depart sooner rather than later. He wasn’t certain if it would be better at this point to linger as long as possible, or to return to her immediately and declare her training complete so he could depart and never see the way she and the prince behaved around each other again.

Either option meant talking to Aelin at least one more time, and he knew immediately that she would deserve an explanation for his actions. She would never ask for one; no, she had asked for shockingly little from him from the moment they had met. Perhaps she even felt as though she didn’t deserve one. It would be easy for him to simply declare her training done and leave, or even for him to rejoin her company and never say a word about what had passed between them. But it wouldn’t be right.

No, he would talk to her and explain that he had panicked. He would explain that the delicate nature of their situation meant that nothing could come to pass between them, that his heart couldn’t take it if they came together in such a way only to be torn apart.

Quickly, he turned back toward the palace and called on the winds to carry him faster. The longer he lingered, the harder it would be to say what would be required of him. And so he flew, making for the window he had left open and shifting rapidly once he landed.

A careful knock on her door gave no reply, and he sighed quietly. Perhaps she had finally managed to find sleep, or perhaps she was ignoring him. If she was ignoring him, it would certainly be nothing less than what he deserved. He found that he was unable to leave the question unanswered, though, and so he thought a silent plea for her forgiveness before carefully opening the door.

The bed was carefully made, and there was no sign of the princess. Perhaps she had gone to speak with her friend or her cousin. A darker part of his mind whispered that perhaps she had sought out her prince after all. But no, a closer look at her room revealed two of the bags she had packed to be missing.

Aelin had fled in the middle of the night, leaving no indication in the room as to where she was going or what she was doing.

_ Shit _ . He was in deep, unending shit, and he had no idea how he was going to explain this to any of the people likely to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're heading toward the end of my outline! I'm expecting maybe 3 more chapters and then an epilogue, depending on how quickly I'm able to tie up loose ends.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading this far and sticking with me.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

“So, let me get this straight,” Aedion drawled as he watched Whitethorn pace around the room.

He had to fight a grin as the warrior growled. “What could possibly be so difficult for you to comprehend?”

“Well, let’s start with the fact that you visited my cousin in the night, knowing full well she had already promised herself to someone else.” He knew, of course, that Aelin had ended things with Dorian weeks ago, but watching the color leave Whitethorn’s face was well worth the lie of omission. Before the warrior could say anything in his defense, Aedion carried on. “You have some sort of interaction with her you won’t discuss further. You leave in a hurry, but return to her room later, and she and her belongings have mysteriously vanished.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Whitethorn snarled.

Aedion bit back a laugh as he watched Whitethorn resume his pacing. “And what, precisely, do you intend for me to do about it? Sounds to me like you’ve created this situation yourself.”

“You’re being too hard on him,” Lysandra called from the next room.

“Am I? He’s admitted to having some sort of late night encounter with my dear cousin, and botching it to the point that she runs away. I don’t think I’m being too hard at all.”

Whitethorn growled at him, exposing elongated canines before opening his mouth to speak, but Aedion simply lifted a hand to demand his silence. “Luckily for you,” he continued, “I have information that you don’t.”

He finally laughed as he watched the warrior freeze. “What information?”

“It doesn’t feel nearly as good to be the one without all the details, does it?” Aedion grinned.

“Play nicely!” called Lysandra.

Aedion sighed and shook his head. “First of all,” he revealed, “I know that Aelin ended things with Dorian almost three weeks ago now. The prince is due to make it public today.”

Whitethorn’s eyes widened. “She did?”

“She did. I’m not certain why she didn’t see fit to tell you, other than the fact that she’s been complaining to my mate about you avoiding her.” A pointed accusation to be sure, but Aedion had to admit he wasn’t feeling especially generous. They had bonded to an extent, certainly, but the male in front of him had just admitted to hurting his beloved cousin. He wasn’t going to make it easy for him to win back her affections.

The guilt that crossed Whitethorn’s face brought him some satisfaction in that regard. “I had orders, though that isn’t much of an excuse.”

“The second thing I know,” Aedion said instead of directly addressing the remark, “is that Aelin never intended to marry Dorian in the first place, nor he her.”

That particular fact wasn’t especially relevant to the current situation, but Aedion had to admit he was reveling in seeing such shock on Whitethorn’s face. It wasn’t every day that someone got to surprise a centuries-old blood-sworn fighter of Queen Maeve’s, after all.

Whitethorn’s shock faded to a contemplative frown, and Aedion knew the warrior would be piecing together any evidence he happened to have witnessed. Before he could get too far, though, Aedion had one final piece of information to reveal. “The final piece of information I have and you don’t is Aelin’s current location.”

Green eyes turned to him in a fierce glare. “You’ve known where she was this entire time,” he growled.

“Yes,” he admitted. “And my task was to stall you long enough that you couldn’t stop her, which I’ve done splendidly.”

“ _Stop her from what, exactly?_ ” A part of Aedion noted Whitethorn’s obvious anger with a thrill of fear; the male was a highly capable warrior, after all, and with his magic as well Aedion wasn’t confident he could actually win a serious fight between them.

That being said, another part of him was delighted that he currently held power in the form of information, and that he had the ability to rile someone so famed for his foul but consistent disposition. With that in mind, Aedion launched one final barb. “I’m certain you could figure it out, if you took your time. Unless, of course, there’s more than one thing you know she could do that you would feel… _compelled_ … to stop her from doing.”

The word was a hint that was far from subtle, and Rowan Whitethorn was no fool. As Aedion watched, he sat down hard in a nearby chair, eyes wide. “She’s going to Maeve.”

It wasn’t a question, but he responded regardless. “She is. Lysandra is to go back to Orynth in her place, disguising herself as Aelin until she reaches the border. I’ve sent letters ahead of us to Terrasen, to let the regent know of Aelin’s side trip. I am to follow behind her, now that it won’t raise suspicion and now that we’re unlikely to catch her before she reaches Doranelle.”

“And you _let her_?” Whitethorn demanded, incredulous. “Are you insane? _Nothing_ good can come of the two of them meeting.”

“Yes to your first question, the second is debatable. And Aelin seems to think something good can come of it.” Aedion finally relented, letting his own expression soften. “But she can’t do it alone. I’m to follow her on the next ship to Wendlyn. Are you coming with me?”

“Of course I’m coming with you,” Whitethorn replied, no hesitation in his voice. “But before we do this, there’s something you should know. I don’t want your surprise to be a hindrance should a certain situation arise.”

“What is it that you think I should know?”

Aedion frowned as he caught a glimmer of regret in Whitethorn’s eyes. “I know who your father is, and we may come across him on our way to Maeve.”

Aedion’s world came to a grinding halt.

* * *

Aelin slipped off of the ship and into Wendlyn with a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been overly seasick on the journey, which she supposed was a relief, but she had kept to her cabin regardless out of a desire to remain as anonymous as possible. After all, Aelin Galathynius, Crown Princess of Terrasen, would attract undue attention.

Celaena Sardothien, the eccentric assassin, however, was someone from whom everyone kept their distance.

It was just as well, really. Aelin didn’t particularly want to talk to anyone on the voyage anyway. She had to maintain her focus on her plan. Instead, she had focused on the physical fitness drills Aedion had taught her so long ago and on sharpening the knives she had brought. If the other passengers thought her distant and cold, well, that was so much the better. The wildfire running through her veins was not intended for them.

Varese was several days’ travel from the port at which she’d landed, but some quick negotiations bought her a horse and food enough for the journey. She kept the hood of her cloak up for the entirety of the trip, both to maintain relative anonymity and to keep the hot rays of the sun away from her face.

She had heard that this land, the land of her mother’s family, was far warmer than the mountains to which she was accustomed. She had presumed it would be roughly equivalent to the summer days of Rifthold, if she gave the matter any thought at all. She had been terribly mistaken; the heat and humidity threatened to overwhelm her at the height of each day, forcing her to veer away from the road and seek shade and water for herself and for her mount.

It might have been easier to simply turn south and ride for Doranelle directly. It certainly would have taken less time. However, she had a favor to ask and a message to ensure the royal family of Wendlyn received, and so to Varese she went.

As she neared the city walls, she took a deep breath to steel her nerves. _My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius,_ she reminded herself, _and I will not be afraid._

She reminded herself of this again as guards surrounded her at the city gate.

For all her nerves, though, the Ashryver line was well-loved in their own capital city. One look at her face and at her eyes, the turquoise-and-gold shared across most of her maternal line, and she was quickly ushered into a side room. “You’ve been expected,” a guard told her as she was left in a room with wine and some sort of flatbread.

Several minutes later, the door opened, and Aelin turned her attention to the room’s newest entrant.

But for their eyes, it would have been nearly impossible to tell that Galan Ashryver was of any relation to her. His dark hair and olive skin were far better suited to the climate of his homeland, whereas her pale complexion and golden hair fit her mountain home. But the Ashryver line produced turquoise eyes ringed with gold in most of its heirs, and when her gaze met his she saw the shared heritage.

Aelin stood and bowed slightly, wishing she had thought to bring finer clothes than her riding leathers. “Cousin, it is a great pleasure to meet at long last.”

Rather than stand on formalities, Galan pulled her into an embrace. “Well met, cousin, though I wish you had better news to bring me.”

Aelin smiled thinly. “There is hope yet,” she said. “I bring the proof I mentioned, along with confirmation that the Havilliards stand behind my actions thus far as well as those yet to come. I did not have time to hear from the Queen of the Wastes or the royal family of Eyllwe before my journey to you began, though I am certain that if you were to converse with Prince Dorian Havilliard he will have confirmation soon.”

As she watched, Galan skimmed through the papers she produced, brow furrowed in thought. “This certainly does seem compelling,” he murmured. “Though it concerns me that this was forgotten so long ago, if it is indeed true.”

“My greatest wish is that I am proven incorrect about the worst of my suspicions, though there is certainly much that needs to be answered regardless. I ride south to speak to our dear aunt, as quickly as possible.”

“You plan to ask her directly?”

“I do. If she can answer to my satisfaction, there need not be further action. And if our worst fears are realized…” She called one of her flames to appear in her hand, twining around her wrist like a bracelet before disappearing. She grinned up at her cousin. “I can take care of myself.”

Galan’s eyes widened. “So the reports of you inheriting Brannon’s power are true,” he remarked, “though your control is far better than reported.”

“I’ve spent a great deal of the past months improving my control,” she replied. “I’ve ignored my heritage for far too long, it would seem.”

Her cousin sighed and set the papers aside. “As you certainly know, I cannot give you the full approval of the crown of Wendlyn. That honor resides with my father still.”

Aelin nodded; she had suspected as much.

“However,” he continued, “I have full command of Wendlyn’s armies. I hope they will not be needed in this situation, but if the need arises I will aid you however I can.”

She smiled and stood. “Then you have my thanks, my dear cousin.”

“Will you need rooms here, to rest before carrying on with your journey?”

“You’re too kind,” she replied. “But no, I’m afraid I cannot delay. One of her blood-sworn warriors follows me, and I have already lingered too long.”

“The one you mentioned in your letter? I believed you to be friendly, from the way you spoke of him.”

“A blood oath does not recognize friendship beyond that of the sworn to his keeper. If she commands him to prevent me from arriving, he will be unable to do anything but comply. I wish to avoid placing him into such a situation if at all possible.”

“I understand,” Galan replied. “Do you wish me to attempt to detain him?”

“You will not be able to, though I appreciate your offer. No, it is best if Wendlyn remain neutral until it is absolutely necessary. Though with all luck, we may yet be able to avoid an incident we would all come to regret.”

“I certainly hope so. Go, then, cousin. Go with our blessing, and with our hopes for as peaceful an end as may be achieved.”

Aelin smiled and embraced him once more before they went their separate ways, him to report to his parents and her to continue her journey.

* * *

Aelin rode for Doranelle as quickly as she could, and soon she was once more within a forest. It was both hotter and more humid than those she called home, but it was still at least somewhat familiar.

Slightly less familiar and more unnerving was the continuous sensation that she was being watched. Obstacles she had spied along the path seemed to clear themselves before she could reach them, and occasionally she could swear she saw eyes peeking out from behind branches.

It wasn’t until the night before she reached her aunt’s borders that she finally faced some of the creatures that had been watching her, and she wasn’t certain whether to find it relieving or unnerving to discover that it had been the Little Folk watching her all along.

She had encountered their kindred in Terrasen, living quietly in the Oakwald Forest and preferring to remain largely unseen. If she lingered in the forest they had a tendency to leave small gifts along her path, little trinkets or particularly beautiful flowers.

These faeries had done more than leave an individual flower, though, for as she watched several of them placed a crown of beautiful red blossoms on a stone before her.

She could not name the flowers they had chosen. They appeared to be similar to the kingsflame that graced Terrasen during times of peace, but the blossoms were slightly larger and a different shade. Still, it was a crown that was all too appropriate for the Heir of Fire, and it both warmed her heart and made her nervous to realize that these faeries recognized her heritage just as readily as those who lived in the land she called home.

Deciding that politeness was the best way to proceed, she lifted the crown with a smile. “You have my thanks,” she murmured to the few who lingered. “This is a beautiful gift indeed, and I will treasure it as long as it lasts.”

The remaining Little Folk fled; either because of some noise in the forest she had not heard, or because she had called attention to them, she couldn’t be certain. She placed the crown of flowers atop her head regardless; it would be rude to thank them for their gift and then proceed to cast it aside.

The sun finally rose enough for her to see the path once more, and Aelin continued onward, wishing for the hundredth time that her secondary form was something more useful than a human shape. If she had been a bird like Rowan, she could have already completed her journey.

Aelin frowned. Perhaps it was best not to think of Rowan. Not now, when she was so close to her aunt’s territory and she needed to keep her wits about her. It was difficult to avoid thinking of him, however. How much had Aedion revealed to him by now? Had he followed at all? If he had, was it to fulfill his blood oath to her aunt and stop her, or was he going to attempt to help her however he could?

With a sigh, she realized that she had far too little information to speculate on his future actions. The only thing she could be reasonably certain of was that he would not directly harm her unless he was specifically ordered by Maeve to do so.

Depending on when exactly he caught up to her, the likelihood of her giving such an order was relatively high. Her aunt was known for many things, but her kindness and forgiving nature were not among them.

Perhaps it was for the best if he didn’t follow. She would have to alter significant portions of her plan, but he would be kept safe. Even as she thought it, though, she knew he would never be content to remain safe while others endangered themselves. No, he would come, to whatever end. All she could do was hope that she could make that a happier end than it would’ve otherwise become.

Resolve strengthened, she carried on along her path, and soon she was met by the calling of wolves.

These wolves, she knew, would be no ordinary creatures. No, these were sentinels for Maeve herself, loyal only to her. If her aunt wished it, these wolves would turn her away. If she pressed onward regardless, they would tear her apart if Maeve gave the order. No one outside of Doranelle was certain of the exact means of her control over these creatures, or even if they truly were wolves. Aelin supposed it didn’t truly matter. All that mattered was that they allow her to pass.

As two of the wolves approached her, she dismounted from her horse and walked out to meet them. It wouldn’t do to spook her mount unnecessarily, and it seemed wise to be as respectful as she could manage. “Greetings,” she called, and the wolves inclined their heads toward her.

She allowed some of her fire to manifest in the palm of her hand, twisting it around her fingers and wrist as she had done for Galan several days prior. “I am Aelin Ashryver Galathynius,” she said, “Princess of Terrasen. Heir of Brannon and of Mala Fire-bringer. You may know me as Aelin Fireheart, or perhaps Aelin of the Wildfire. I have come to meet with my aunt, Queen Maeve of the Fae of Doranelle.”

As the wolves looked on, she allowed her eyes to glow with the wildfire of her determination. She would not be stopped. She would see her aunt, and make her answer for all Aelin had learned.

Finally, the wolves moved to either side of the path, bowing their heads. Aelin simply walked back to her horse and swung herself into the saddle once more. She would be allowed to pass, and the wolves knew it.

Aelin smirked as she rode on, knowing the wolves were following her every movement now that she was truly within Maeve’s territory. It wouldn’t be long now. She would have her answers, and Rowan’s freedom, and perhaps even her own happiness.

All she had to do was fight for it with every ounce of strength she had within her.

* * *

“We’re less than a day behind her,” Rowan relayed to Aedion after meeting with the wolves that guarded the edge of Maeve’s territory.

The other warrior only nodded in reply. He had been remarkably quiet throughout the journey, and Rowan wasn’t certain whether it was the absence of his mate or the revelation of his heritage that had given him so much to think about. Perhaps it was both.

The male was taking it remarkably well, all things considered. He had occasionally asked quiet questions about what Gavriel was like, and Rowan had volunteered stories of his mentor and friend well into the night. He had been avoiding one question in particular, though, and it was this question that came forward as they began to move again. “Does he even know I exist?”

Rowan sighed. “I’m not certain. If he knows, he hasn’t told any of us. And that is certainly the correct decision if he does know; none of us would have been able to hide your existence if asked.”

“Because of the blood oath you all swore.”

It wasn’t a question, but Rowan nodded regardless. “She would use you against him at the slightest opportunity, as she uses anyone and everyone one of her blood-sworn holds dear.”

He had known, of course, what manner of female Maeve had been when he had sworn himself into her service. He’d known that she could be cruel, and merciless, and vindictive. He hadn’t cared, then; he’d welcomed it, even. Some part of him, the part that cried out for a mate that was no longer there, had relished it. It was, after all, no worse than what he deserved.

Doubt had begun to enter his mind when she had recruited Connall and then Fenrys, the Black Wolf and White Wolf. The way she had gone about it, and the way Fenrys in particular struggled against the oath constantly thereafter, were further indications of Maeve’s unique cruelty for anyone who cared to look. Rowan hadn’t, then, still convinced it was what he deserved. They had made their choice as much as he had; perhaps they’d had their reasons as well.

His doubts hadn’t truly manifested until he had explained his story to Aelin, and felt nothing but relief as she accepted all of him. He still believed that he deserved his fate; however, she deserved far better than to be entangled with such a dark court. If all had gone according to Maeve’s plan, he would have reported everything to her and Aelin would never have been safe again.

Rowan shook his head. It was pointless to think about; if there was a way to break a blood oath that didn’t result in death, he wasn’t aware of it. This was to be his fate, and he only hoped that Aelin could win her freedom from this life.

If she managed to free him as well, somehow, he would savor every moment of it and follow her to whatever end.

A ray of warm sunlight pierced through the clouds and he felt a strange sense of comfort, as though the goddess that had so blessed Aelin with her gift of fire had heard his thoughts and deigned to answer. Almost involuntarily, his eyes slid closed as he enjoyed the moment of warmth and peace. Too soon, however, the ray of sunlight passed on, and Rowan was left with only his divided thoughts once more.

Aedion was evidently only too happy to add to those doubts. “Did you know, when you swore to her, that she was like this? Did he?”

“We all did,” he said wearily. “We all had our own reasons for swearing the oath. What Gavriel’s were, I do not know. But we were under no illusions, if that’s what you ask. Every one of us knows what Maeve is capable of doing to those who cross her, as well as the rewards she bestows on those she grants her favor.” Both, of course, were twisted in their own way, but he wasn’t attempting to draw this conversation out any longer than he had to. If Aedion wanted answers to the questions he was actually asking, he would need to confront his father. “We should keep moving,” he said to cut off yet another question. “We don’t have long, if Aelin’s plan is truly for us to catch up to her as Maeve welcomes her.”

The journey into Doranelle was thankfully swift and free of obstacles, and soon they stood before the stone walls of the city that he called home but that felt like a cage. A tugging sensation near his heart, one that had been present since he had learned of Aelin’s departure, strengthened as they passed through the gates. It seemed that, though she had given no further explicit instructions, the blood oath demanded that Rowan act regardless.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to come.

It was too late to turn back now, though, and so instead he quietly led Aedion through the streets of the city, drawing ever closer to a palace made of stone at the center of the city built on the rivers. With each step, he thought another silent plea to whatever god or goddess may have cared to listen. For Aelin. For himself. For the warrior beside him. For the father who had never known his son. For the twins who had ensnared each other in Maeve’s grasp. If he was going to entertain desperate prayers that were unlikely to be realized, he might as well include Vaughan and Lorcan as well, though if Lorcan was somehow set free he was as likely to curse his liberator as he was to thank them.

He slipped them through a side door into the palace, down familiar halls and up familiar staircases. All the while, he was trying to mentally prepare himself for what they would face when they reached the room Maeve preferred for audiences. He realized quickly that it was futile, however; he couldn’t predict what Aelin would do, or how Maeve would react to an unknown force.

He especially couldn’t predict the words that froze him where he stood as they reached the door to Maeve’s audience chamber.

“So tell me,” Aelin was drawling, “how long have you known that you held the mate of the future Queen of Terrasen in a blood oath?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading and following my little story to this point! We're definitely nearing the end now.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Aelin allowed herself a moment to revel in the stunned silence from across the room at her question. She had played along with false pleasantries quite long enough, and it was time to get the answers she sought.

Maeve sat in a throne of stone as white as the stone that formed the room, palace, and city around her, with a wolf on either side of her. These two were different from the wolves that had greeted her along the path, though; wicked intelligence shone in their dark eyes, and the white wolf seemed full of barely-restrained rage. By contrast, the black wolf laid lazily beside the throne, clever eyes missing nothing. No, these were Fae, and if she had guessed correctly they would be two more of Maeve’s blood-sworn warriors.

The female between them was a perfect balance between the two, calculated anger masked by calm indifference and even mild surprise. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you speak of, my dear niece,” she said through gritted teeth, black eyes glittering with irritation.

“I’m quite certain that you don’t,” Aelin replied, dropping her own easy smirk. “After all, it seems you’ve been playing so many games over the years. Surely it must be difficult, keeping track of all the pieces?”

“Spoken like a novice sitting at the table for the first time,” Maeve sneered.

Aelin carefully inspected the fingernails on her left hand. “I’m certain it wouldn’t grieve you, then, to learn that Arobynn Hamel is dead, by my hand.” A bold statement, to be sure, and one Maeve could easily refute, but she wanted the female across from her to know that she was not afraid of accusing her of the crimes she now knew her to have committed.

She would not be afraid. Not of this female, not of anybody. Not anymore. Maeve had intended to break her, and she had nearly succeeded, but rather than break Aelin had been reforged, transforming mind and her body and her magic into a weapon. Now, that weapon only had one target remaining, and that was a dark-haired female sitting so close Aelin could nearly taste her victory.

They were not alone, however, and Aelin needed Maeve to confess to at least a portion of what she had done if this was to go well with the other royal houses.

Several moments passed, and when she dared to glance across the room, Maeve had composed herself once more, an owl flying over to sit on her shoulder. “Arobynn Hamel was an overly ambitious fool, who craved power beyond what he could grasp,” she replied lightly. “He wrote to me, as so many fools do. It was amusing for a time.”

“At last, dear aunt, we have found something upon which we can agree. Arobynn Hamel _was_ overly ambitious. Perhaps he was even foolish. But he was a _meticulous_ fool, and he kept every letter you sent to him in reply.”

Maeve had the audacity to look bored. “I send so many letters, you can hardly expect me to recall the ones of which you speak.”

Aelin felt a strange calm settle over her, and when she spoke it did not sound like her own voice to her ears. “That’s a pity. Perhaps I ought to refresh your memory?”

Before Maeve could reply, she pulled a piece of paper from her jerkin and began to read. “ _The girl’s mate will not be a problem. He was already broken centuries ago, and answers to me alone. The time has now come to break her. End her dear assassin’s life before they can accomplish their goals.”_

Maeve snapped her fingers and the black wolf stood. Before he could approach, however, Aelin was already burning the scrap of paper in her hand. “A copy, of course. You couldn’t expect me to entrust the _real_ letters to anyone in this place, could you?”

The real letters had been certified by the Havilliards and currently rested in the possession of Galan Ashryver, who at this very moment would be presenting them to his own parents and announcing Maeve’s actions to the world. Aelin felt her smirk return to her face. “You may think me a novice, my dear aunt, but do not mistake me for a fool. Let us not play games with each other. Or shall the _real_ game begin now?”

Maeve was staring at the burning paper in her hand, a combination of revulsion and anger clear on her face. “Perhaps you could begin, niece, by telling us your true purpose in coming to this place.”

“Oh, my journey has several purposes. There are several promises that currently stand unfulfilled, after all. First and foremost, I am certain that you are aware it is a crime, under both your laws and Terrasen’s, to stand between mates in the method you are choosing now.” An archaic, hardly-enforced law on both sides, but it was the easiest way to begin. If she could win this concession from Maeve, then there was a greater chance of her succeeding on other fronts.

“We claim ignorance on our part, and would be happy to reunite you given confirmation of a mating bond, of course.” While the tone of her words remained light, Maeve’s black eyes shone like a raven’s wing. Oh, she was angry, and Aelin had only just begun.

“I thought I said ‘let us not play games’, Aunt Maeve,” she replied. “Everyone knows that you are fully capable of reading the paths of the future. I do not doubt that you knew before I was even born, and that you do not need proof to confirm that which you already know.”

“Very well,” Maeve hissed. “But I cannot break the bond you ask me to break without the presence of my sworn.”

Aelin laughed. “I’m certain you know as well as I do that you need only summon him. The journey will only take him a few moments, I’m sure, as if I’ve planned everything correctly—and I have—he’s been standing outside this room for several minutes now.”

* * *

A sharp tug forced Rowan into the room, Maeve digging in her claws more harshly than required for such a simple order. It would do him no good to allow her to see weakness, however, and so he masked the grimace of discomfort as his muscles locked into place a few paces in front of Aelin.

He chanced a glance at the princess, knowing his bewilderment would show in his eyes. _What in the gods’ names are you doing?_ he wanted to shout at her, though Maeve’s commands kept him perfectly still and silent.

Aelin smirked at him, fire lining her eyes. _I’m doing what I do best_ , her posture screamed—no, that was the bond, the mating bond. He was actually hearing her voice speak to him, this was no trick of reading expressions. _I’m irritating someone known for their control, until they do exactly what it is I intend for them to do._

If the bond could transmit her words to him, then surely it could work the other way even with Maeve stifling his voice. _This is beyond foolish, this is insane. At best, you’ll get us all killed._

_Och, Buzzard, have a little faith._

“That is _quite_ enough, both of you.” Maeve’s hold over him wrenched his gaze away from hers, and the connection dropped. “I can tolerate many things, but I will not be disrespected in my own home.”

A cold dread began to fill Rowan. Aelin was clever, and he wanted to believe she would emerge from this triumphant, but one wrong move would make it certain that things would end poorly for all of them. He was all too familiar with that tone coming from the female before them; it usually preceded Maeve’s most cruel acts.

“How’s this for disrespect, _my dear aunt_?” Aelin taunted. She snapped her fingers—she didn’t need to, Rowan knew, it must have simply been her flair for dramatics—and a wall of fire lined the room. “If you have contact with your eyes around the city, you’ll know there is another line of fire around the border of your city.” To an untrained ear she would sound almost bored, but Rowan could detect the triumph in her tone.

“You foolish girl,” Maeve snapped. “This entire city is stone and water. You’ve nothing to burn here.” Anger colored her tone, but Rowan saw the fear in her eyes.

It was well-known among those close to Maeve that she hated and feared fire. It was likely the entire reason she had set out to bring Aelin under her thumb to begin with, so that she would never act against her. He couldn’t be certain if this move on Aelin’s part was instinctive or calculated, but it was perhaps the smartest thing she could have done if her goal was to keep Maeve off-balance.

Maeve’s control over his muscles dropped just enough that he could look back at Aelin once more. She looked almost bored, carefully cleaning dirt from underneath her fingernails with one of her many daggers. “Ah, but I don’t have to burn the city, do I?” she asked lightly, before glancing at Maeve with all of the fire she possessed shining in her eyes. “Only you.”

Maeve was positively seething now, teeth gritted as she spoke. “What, precisely, do you want from me?”

“Release your blood-sworn.” Aelin called another flame to play in her hand, not even glancing at it. No, her eyes were fixed on the dark queen before her.

“You have no cause to demand I release every oath others have sworn to me,” she hissed in reply.

“That’s true enough,” Aelin sighed. “But I _do_ have cause to demand that you release Rowan.”

It was terribly clever, deliberately feigning a misstep to make Maeve more confident that she had the upper hand. Indeed, she seemed almost magnanimous when she called Rowan to her. “Very well,” the queen proclaimed. “Rowan Whitethorn, by my blood that flows in you, through no dishonor, through no act of treachery, I hereby free you of your blood oath to me.”

Maeve spoke the same words again in the Old Language, unweaving the bonds that had held him for nearly two centuries now, and he nearly fell to his knees as he sliced a cut in his own palm using one of his daggers, completing the ritual. Still trapped at Maeve’s sides in their wolf forms, he saw Fenrys and Connall looking on, Fen’s eyes in particular bright with anger as another obtained the freedom he never would.

As soon as the bond was released, Aelin dutifully extinguished her flames—not just those of her creation, he realized, but every single flame in the city. Every cooking fire, every lit candle—none escaped her notice, judging from the shocked cries he could hear around them. Once that was done, she glanced at him, and suddenly he knew what he had to do. The next move in their game was his, and had to be done by his own free will.

Luckily for Aelin, what she wouldn’t dare to ask was everything he had wanted for a long time.

Three quick strides brought him to her side, and with no hesitation he knelt in front of her, reaching for her wrist and placing his dagger against her palm.

He barely registered the words she spoke, the promises she was eliciting from him. They didn’t matter. He would have given her everything regardless of whether or not she had sworn him to it. The princess—no, the _queen_ before him, who asked for so little and deserved so much, would change the world. She had already altered his forever.

Belatedly, he realized the ritual required his response. “I swear it until my last breath, and the world beyond.” _To whatever end,_ he added through their bond.

She sliced her wrist open in response, and he felt a new bond settle over him as he completed the rite by drinking from the blood that spilled. Where Maeve’s had felt like claws digging into him, though, this bond was a warm embrace and a lover’s caress combined with the deep-seated urge to ensure her safety and happiness. Nothing new, then, only an enhancement of what already laid between them.

Maeve hissed. “Are you two quite finished insulting me in my own house?” she demanded.

“Oh, my dear aunt, I’m afraid I’m only just getting started,” Aelin smirked. “I have several other questions that demand answers.”

* * *

Aedion refused to admit that he was nervous as he stood guard outside the door. Whitethorn had entered several minutes earlier, pulled by some unseeable force, but his role in all of this was to remain outside and ensure that they would remain uninterrupted.

Aelin’s wildfire had burned hot and bright around all of them for several minutes, only to die out all at once. Aelin had snuffed out every torch and candle as well, and for several moments his eyes struggled to adjust to the newly-dimmed hall around him. Adjust they did, however, and soon he was back to keeping watch, leaning against the doorframe as though he didn’t have a care in the world. His hand clasped around the hilt of his sword would belie his easy stance to anyone trained to look, but he supposed it was worth the effort to appear slightly less intimidating. It could be the only thing that protected him, after all, in this city full of potential enemies.

He hadn’t dared glimpse the inside of the room, and there was no telling how many of Queen Maeve’s blood-sworn were already present. There had to be at least one other already within the room in addition to Whitethorn, but it was a fool’s errand to guess at the exact numbers. What was far more certain, though, was that even now Maeve would be calling any who remained absent to her. Aelin had showed her hand as a formidable foe, and now it was on Maeve to make the next move.

Aedion held no illusions about who they faced. Queen Maeve was well-known to be ruthless, and her retribution for the blows they were about to strike would be swift and cruel.

How far had Aelin gotten in her plan? They were speaking just softly enough that he couldn’t quite make out what was going on in the next room. He knew her plan was to ensure Whitethorn’s freedom first and then seek answers for everything else the queen had done, but there was no way to know if that had happened.

Footsteps sounded from around the corner, two females judging by the gait and weight of the steps, and Aedion concealed himself behind one of the stone pillars.

“—where Rowan went in such a hurry,” one of them was saying, her voice sharp and cold. “Do you think this means he’s returned to us, where he belongs?”

“Don’t you think it’s time you let that one go, Remelle?” asked her companion. “It’s been a hundred years since he last visited you voluntarily.”

“I heard he was sent to entertain the court of a half-breed,” the first female sniffed, and Aedion clamped down on the instinct to growl at the slight to his cousin. “Surely he’s more open to recalling what he may have been missing.”

The voices trailed off, as did the footsteps, and he grinned at the thought of Aelin ever chancing upon this Fae who had so dismissed her while attempting to sink her claws into her mate. Were they ever to meet, he thought she would delight in tearing her apart, piece by tiny piece. Almost as much as she was certain to enjoy what she was doing to the queen now, he imagined.

Aedion grinned fiercely, knowing that Aelin was perhaps the one thing Queen Maeve wouldn’t have been able to see coming. The dark queen was cruel and ruthless, yes, but Aelin was a whirlwind of sharp words, sharper steel, and scorching flame. She would burn everything in her path, and he would gladly watch her back while she did it.

Another set of footsteps approached and he returned his attention to the task Aelin had given him. These were softer, with the clicking of claws. An animal form, then, possibly one of the queen’s blood-sworn on an ordered patrol of the area. He allowed himself as silent a breath as he could manage, tightening his grip on his blade.

A mountain cat turned the corner and approached the pillar he was concealed behind. When it was about halfway there, before Aedion could decide what he was going to do about it, the form shifted and became that of a Fae male that stood as tall as he did, with muscular shoulders and golden hair that fell to his shoulders. Aedion froze, even knowing the hesitation would likely cost him. This had to be the male Rowan had warned him about.

His father.

There was no mistaking the resemblance, not when Fae didn’t age beyond a certain point. They could have passed for brothers, the only large difference between them the tattoos that marked the other male’s chest, peeking through an open shirt.

The other difference between them made itself clear as tawny eyes lifted to meet Aedion’s own Ashryver blue.

Steel clattered against the stone floor, and Aedion couldn’t tell if it belonged to himself or to the other male. Perhaps it had been both of them. He supposed it didn’t matter in the end, as they were both frozen in place, eyes wide in shock.

“You look just like her,” the other male whispered. “It cannot be.”

* * *

Aelin didn’t allow herself to bask in her victory for long. Freeing Rowan from her aunt’s clutches had been the comparatively easy part. Now came two far more difficult things to prove than his status as her mate.

Pulling another piece of paper from her jerkin, she forced herself to meet Maeve’s dark, furious gaze. “I’m afraid I brought some official business with me as well,” she began, before drawing herself up to her full height and uttering some of the most difficult words she would ever speak. “Queen Maeve, ruler of the Fae of Doranelle, on behalf of the royal families of Terrasen, Adarlan, and Wendlyn, I come to you today to inform you that you are accused of the murders of Rhoe and Evalin Galathynius, heirs to the crown of Terrasen.”

Maeve’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me, girl. The Ashryvers of Wendlyn would never stand against me, regardless of their blood connection to you.”

“That’s funny,” Aelin drawled. “I was just speaking with them before I came here. They found the evidence compelling, or so they told me.”

“We find your accusations to be baseless and with neither proof nor merit,” Maeve snapped.

“I would never dare to accuse you without any kind of evidence, of course. You may recall writing to Arobynn Hamel of the exact method of use for a poison your healers concocted as an intellectual exercise? Nearly untraceable, unless you knew to look for it, and when administered slowly enough it would appear as a mere wasting illness. I have a copy of the letter here, in the event you need to refresh your memory.” Copying it had nearly broken Aelin, but Maeve didn’t need to know that. Dorian had offered to write that copy himself, but she had insisted and she had succeeded.

“An intellectual exercise of interest to a potential player in the game of nations, nothing more,” Maeve replied dismissively.

“I wanted to believe that,” Aelin lied. “But then I came upon another letter.” As she pulled this one out, she willed her fingers not to tremble. “ _The nobles of whom you speak have ignored their promise to me for too long. I trust you know how to remind them of their obligations._ ”

Aelin took a deep breath and continued. “I know of what promise you wrote. My mother, whilst on her own deathbed, told me exactly how hard she had worked to keep me from you. She told me that I must never set foot in Doranelle, lest the power inside me be leashed by you.”

“Your mother disobeyed me when she married your father,” Maeve snapped in reply. “I told her the bloodline was too unstable, and there was no way of knowing what such a union would produce. But she ran away to Terrasen and to your father regardless. When I discovered her deception, I was willing to forgive her for everything. The only thing I asked of her in exchange was to be allowed to meet her daughter, that I may know what was to become of the Galathynius line when the Ashryver line joined with it. She agreed readily enough, but when the time came to fulfill her promise she was nowhere to be found. I do not take being lied to kindly, my dear niece.” The words would be an endearment from anyone else, but from Maeve each word was a knife, hurled at her with deadly precision.

“Would you have provided them with the antidote had they come to see you?” Aelin asked. “Or were they already a lost cause to you?”

“Of course I would have!” As soon as Maeve said it, her pale face lost what little color it had.

Aelin smirked, though the victory was hollow at best. “So you admit that you gave the order, then.”

“And if I do? Are you willing to allow the other courts to weigh the word of a girl who hasn’t even Settled against my own?”

Aelin ignored the jab about her own Settling, knowing it was meant to unbalance her. “I hardly think that would be necessary,” she said instead. “After all, I left copies of your letters with all of them, and the originals with one of them. Your own word will stand against you, in addition to mine.”

“A handful of unsigned letters and the word of an unproven princess. My dear, you have nothing.”

“Oh, this wasn’t even the true accusation I come to bring,” Aelin admitted, watching with ferocious glee as Maeve’s eyes widened. “No, this was simply a score I wanted to settle for myself. It _is_ true, though, that I left letters with the other royal families. I wanted to ensure they knew everything, after all, for the entire reason we’re in this situation is a series of secrets that were _remarkably_ well-kept.”

“I’m quite certain I don’t know what you mean,” Maeve seethed, the shadows around her darkening almost imperceptibly.

“Then allow me to enlighten you. You know, I trust, that Terrasen has the oldest library in Erilea, and that we sent a good many of our most important works to Adarlan when Elena Galathynius married Gavin Havilliard.”

“You speak of ancient history, niece. What has that to do with the present day?”

“It has everything to do with the present day, or so I fear,” Aelin replied, allowing herself a dramatic sigh. “What do you know of the times before the war against the Valg king Erawan?”

It was an innocent enough question, a young child asking her elder for a story in any other context. But Aelin watched the shadows around Maeve grow darker, almost seeming to take on form of their own, and knew her guess had struck true.

She quickly smothered a frisson of fear and steeled her nerves. The next few minutes would decide everything, and she had to be prepared for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading!
> 
> ...posts will probably not be QUITE this fast from here, as I will have to actually go back to work starting tomorrow after the holiday weekend. I'll still do my best to make them as fast as possible, though!


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Rowan stared at Aelin, knowing his face would show his shock. He knew by now that Aelin rarely did anything without a reason, but he couldn’t fathom why she was asking such questions of Maeve when the sensible thing to do would be to run and never look back. She had stolen him away from Maeve’s clutches, she had even gotten answers from her about her parents.

His icy heart had cracked when she’d wrung that confession from the queen. He’d known, of course, that Maeve could be cruel and vindictive. He’d also known that she never forgot or forgave someone who crossed her, not truly. Oh, she would say she had offered forgiveness readily enough. It was what had convinced him to swear to her, after all, her offer of forgiveness for everything that had come to pass with Lyria and for losing himself for as long as he had.

He had since come to learn that forgiveness didn’t come attached to a string, much less a web of half-truths and outright deceit. Forgiveness didn’t ask for the completion of difficult tasks, or for the surrender of free will.

Forgiveness was Aelin burning away his guilt and his doubts with a simple smile. Forgiveness was how he had nearly ruined everything they could come to share with his own foolish nerves, but she had come to Doranelle to demand he be freed regardless.

No, a creature like Maeve could never exhibit true forgiveness. She was too self-serving, too arrogant, too cold and cruel. Which was why Rowan was certain, _so certain_ , that Aelin would have realized that she was at a significant advantage with the concessions already granted and leave before Maeve could turn the tables.

Deep down, he supposed he should have known she would see a possible vulnerability and seek to press that advantage, take as much from Maeve as she could possibly get. It was a fighter’s instinct, a move from someone who knew they would never get this opportunity again.

Maeve pursed her lips before responding, voice tight with barely-restrained anger. “I know a great deal more than you could pretend to, child.”

“I’m certain that you do; our histories indicate that you were present for the war, after all.” Aelin was back to carefully examining her fingernails rather than looking at the queen, her posture that of idle nonchalance. To a casual observer, it would appear that Aelin was already bored of the conversation, but Rowan knew this was all a part of a carefully calculated act. He was more than familiar with her character as Celaena Sardothien, and he could see that she was using that mask one last time.

At least, he sincerely hoped it would be one last time. He had no greater wish for her than for her to be able to be truly herself once more.

“And what question is it that you seek answers for?” For all of Maeve’s posturing, for all of her tight control over her tone, Rowan could see through to the vulnerability within. He had spent centuries at her side, doing her bidding, and this was something he had never seen from the dark queen.

Maeve was afraid.

“They were said to be terrible creatures, weren’t they? The Valg, I mean. Demons from another world, with the power to possess humans and Fae alike.” Aelin’s words were light in tone, careful and precise. “I heard the princes, or the kings like Erawan, were even more powerful. They could take on their own form and walk among us. They could manipulate shadows, or a person’s very thoughts. Is that true?”

“It is,” Maeve replied, “and you should be grateful that I worked with your ancestors to banish them all back to their home.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true,” Aelin said, “but that’s a different question. No, what I was wondering was something else. What sort of power do you imagine one of their queens would have possessed?”

Maeve hesitated for a moment, clearly debating whether or not to answer the question at all. “It was said,” she finally replied, “that the queens were even more powerful than the kings. Given that the kings were difficult enough to kill or banish, I would think most would hesitate before battling a queen of the Valg.”

“How interesting,” Aelin remarked, her eyes focused now on the ground near Maeve’s feet. What on earth was she doing? “I read that the princes could manipulate your thoughts, force you to relive your darkest moments so they could feed on your despair. If a prince could do that to one person, do you suppose a queen could do that to many?”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Maeve allowed.

“I’m sure you’re wondering exactly what my questions have to do with… well, everything, really.” Aelin laughed, and Rowan could feel himself frowning. _He_ certainly wondered what game she was playing. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you wondering for long.”

The arrogant smirk of Celaena Sardothien crossed Aelin’s face again as she finally looked the queen in the eye. “Did you know,” she finally asked, “that Brannon of the Wildfire was able to locate histories before he fled to Terrasen that claim there were only _two_ sister-queens of the Fae?”

Distantly, Rowan knew the sensations coursing through his body were those of shock. His vision narrowed and went slightly grey, and his hands and feet were tingling. He could hardly focus on such things, however, given the implications of Aelin’s pointed question, hurled like a knife at a female who was turning out to be far more deadly than either of them could have known. To have convinced the entire world that there were always three sisters… that was more power than Rowan could comprehend.

Too late, he noticed the shadows lancing at them from the floor. Even if his reflexes had been at their best, he couldn’t have avoided this attack. Instead, he looked at Aelin, horror dawning on his face.

Aelin smiled back at him…

And then threw herself between Rowan and the shadows.

He could hear a voice screaming in the distance. It took several seconds for him to recognize it as his own.

* * *

Aelin gritted her teeth against the force of the blast but held strong as the shadows—or perhaps the female controlling them—shrieked, throwing a desperate line of fire between herself and Rowan to ensure he would remain safe.

As she had suspected from her research but not had time to prove, the ring she had continued to wear on her thumb was indeed a protective ward—bespelled for Athril, friend of Brannon’s and former lover of the very female she faced now, an unnamed goddess’ gift granting protection against the powers of the Valg. Rowan would have been injured, or killed, or worse had the shadows managed to reach him, but though they could bring her almost to her knees with their strength they could not actually touch her.

Finally the shadows ebbed, and she stood against a backdrop of her own flame. “Queen Maeve of the Fae,” she declared, “if that truly is your name, I must confess I have misled you until this point. My true charge, and my truest accusation, is not that of the murder of my parents. You stand accused of deceiving Mab and Mora—deceiving the _world_ —as to your true nature, to hide amongst the Fae whilst your brethren tortured and killed us. You stand accused of being that which you professed to aid in killing, for whatever unknown purpose you may have had.”

Aelin summoned a small flame into each hand, a further reminder of her power. “You stand accused, _my dear aunt_ , of being a Queen not of the Fae, but of the Valg. How do you plead?”

Maeve only laughed, the sound high and cold, though her eyes remained fixed on the fire Aelin controlled. “You think yourself clever, but you will never leave this place alive to utter such an accusation unless it is by my own choosing.”

“How, exactly, do you plan to stop me?”

“Surely you’ve realized by now that only two of my blood-sworn are in this room. While I believe that either of them would prove more than your match, I have called the others here. They will arrive within mere minutes.” A bluff, Aelin realized; at least one of them was too far away to be recalled in any haste.

“And I’m certain you’ve guessed by now that I did not come alone either,” Aelin retorted. “Nor am I a fool. You may strike me down if you so please, but it will only serve as further evidence to the rest of the world. War will be upon your doorstep if you do not yield, a war you have sought to avoid for centuries.”

She began to feel a weakness in her knees, and a cramping sensation toward the base of her spine. Maeve wouldn’t have to defeat her outright, she realized. If she merely kept Aelin talking for a few minutes more, she would be at the point of a burnout. And yet she could not risk lowering the curtain of flame that protected Rowan, not when she had only just won him away from the female who sat before her.

No, she had to hold on, for as long as she could manage.

“Your ancestor’s little book can be discredited easily enough,” Maeve sneered. “A bastard, who was no one until he fought in the wars and then fled across the sea, is no historian.”

“Perhaps you underestimate how well-loved Brannon Galathynius was by his people. They remember him kindly, as an honest male who was so brave, who shone with a fire so bright, that even the goddess of flame herself was entranced. Think about that, about an honor you will never know. A _goddess_ gave up her immortal life for him. An act like that reverberates for ages to come, and does much to credit his word.”

Maeve shrugged with an air of indifference, but her cold and calculating eyes remained locked on Aelin and her flames. “There’s no way of knowing if your little book was even _written_ by Brannon. I certainly don’t recall him writing one, and it is not disputed that I was present for these events.”

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face, and the hairs at the back of her neck were already drenched with it. She had to end this, and soon. “I grow weary of your games,” she snapped. “You’ve heard the accusation. _How do you plead?_ ”

“If it is answers you seek, you will find none here.” Shadows grew once more around Maeve’s feet, gathering around their mistress. “And you grow weary of more than simply games. You haven’t the strength to carry out any sentence you could deign to bestow upon me.”

Aelin laughed. “Oh, but surely you know.”

Maeve snarled, revealing elongated canines for the first time. “Know _what_?”

“Know that I don’t have to have the strength myself.” As she lowered the shield of flame protecting Rowan from the shadows, she drew her blade across her hand and called him to her. A quick slice across his palm and their hands clasped together as they had what felt like a lifetime ago.

Cold, swirling, ancient power slammed into her, and then there was only fire.

* * *

“What are you _doing_ here?” the warrior—no, his _father_ —hissed. “No, on second thought, don’t tell me. Don’t tell me anything about why you’re here, don’t tell me you’re who I suspect you are. You shouldn’t _be_ here, it’s not safe.”

“You’re…” The words died in Aedion’s throat. “You’re the one Whitethorn warned me about,” he finally managed.

“Whitethorn? Rowan is back?” His father sighed. “Don’t tell me. The less I know, the better. I’m only supposed to be patrolling, there’s a chance I won’t have to get involved.”

“Involved in what, exactly? The queen’s dirty work, I would imagine.” The words came out bitter, more bitter than Aedion had intended. He didn’t know why exactly his father had left, whether it was the only protection he could give or whether whatever glory he had sought as a warrior had won over any family he could have. He’d told himself for years that he didn’t care. Aelin and her parents had been as much a family to him as he could have asked for, and he had set his thoughts of his farther aside, thinking they were unnecessary and could be forgotten.

He should have known that one day all of those ignored thoughts and feelings would come back to haunt him, though he could never have guessed that it would be in this way, with the male who should have raised him now standing between him and Aelin.

A scream sounded from the inside of the room, sounding suspiciously like Whitethorn. What was going _on_ in that room? Aelin had told him her suspicions, her belief that the ring given to her by Dorian was unintentionally the best protection she could have acquired for this exact situation, but what if she had been wrong?

Aedion’s blood ran cold at the thought that his cousin could be injured, or worse, and he wasn’t there to help her.

His father, on the other hand, barely even grimaced, though his tawny eyes revealed a deep sadness. “I would say she was not always like this, but I’m afraid I would be lying. When it was only my own life I had to worry about, I paid it no mind. What good was my life, without a cause such as hers? For all her flaws, she protected my people. It turned out that I was good at protecting them as well—good enough to attract her attention. But know this. If you are who I suspect—and _do not tell me_ if you are—then your mother changed everything.”

A shriek came from the room, high and cold and angry, and this time his father _did_ flinch. That didn’t stop him from speaking, however. “For the first time in my life, I had something that mattered. And I realized what would happen if it ever came to light. Hiding our relationship would never be enough, not when all she would have to do was command me to speak the truth and it would all be revealed.”

“And so you left.” Aedion dimly realized his hands were trembling. He didn’t know what to think, what to say, what to do. Not when everything had changed so suddenly.

“And so I left, knowing that I would never be able to see her again. I couldn’t even risk knowing any more than was necessary about her life. She knew why, though. Before I left, I told her everything. I told her to keep it secret, to keep herself safe. I warned her to _never_ come looking for me. It was without a doubt the most difficult choice I’ve ever had to make, but at the same time there was never a choice. There was only this. And there… there is not enough time in all the world to tell you everything. In fact, we only have a few more moments before her orders will demand that I bring you to her.”

“What would you have me do? I cannot abandon my—”

“ _Don’t tell me_ ,” his father snapped. “And what I would have you do does not matter. All that matters right now is keeping you safe. And if that means sending you away from here, then so be it.”

“And if I don’t leave?”

“Then—” the words of the other male stopped short as he stumbled, hand going to his chest in what appeared to be an automatic gesture.

“What is it?” Aedion asked.

“The oath—it’s… but it cannot be.” The words came slowly, their speaker clearly deep in disbelief. He glanced down at his hands, and then back up at Aedion.

As one, they looked at the door to the audience chamber, where all had gone suddenly silent. Then they ran to the door, forcing it open and gaping at what lay beyond.

* * *

By the time the flames died out, there was nothing left of Maeve but a smoky black stain on the white stone floor. Aelin slowly let go of Rowan’s hand and approached it hesitantly, as though somehow the creature that had posed as her aunt could re-emerge from the ashes.

Then again, she had been lying to everyone for centuries. Aelin wouldn’t put it past her to come back from the dead.

As she walked, step after halting step, each breath echoing in the sudden silence of the room, she allowed herself to think a desperate prayer that this all had worked. If this all turned out to be some foolish dream, she didn’t know what she’d do.

Carefully, she drew the toe of her boot through the ashes, effectively scattering them. A black stain remained on the stone underneath them. Finally, hardly daring to hope, she looked up at Rowan. She knew immediately that his expression of wary longing matched her own, but still they stood, simply staring at one another.

One of the wolves moved behind her, breaking the silence, and suddenly they were moving, walking briskly toward each other from across the room. She had just reached the midpoint when she was swept into the arms of a laughing male.

Aelin blinked, startled from the sudden spinning, only to find that it was the wrong male who had swept her away.

He was objectively beautiful, long golden curls offset by eyes of onyx and lips curled into an easy grin. “You did it,” he was saying through his laughter. “By all the gods, I never thought this day would come!”

A growl from behind her cut off any response she could have hoped to make, but the male only laughed harder. “Oh, come on, Rowan! You’ll have her for… gods, however long this one lives, I suppose. Assuming she doesn’t get another crazy idea and get you both killed tomorrow.”

The door burst open then, Aedion coming through at a sprint with another Fae male who looked stunningly like him. Aelin gave him a pointed look and then gestured between the two of them questioningly, but Aedion only shook his head. She’d have to pester him later for answers, then.

Another door opened, this one behind the dais where Maeve had sat, and a voice, rough and dark, shouted, “What have you _done_ , you fire-breathing _bitch?_ ”

“The queen wasn’t _Fae_!” the male who was still holding her shouted, laughter turning desperate and almost hysterical. “She was one of the Valg, who disguised herself to stay behind. This one here figured it out and confronted her, and she _freed_ us! She freed us, Lorcan, could you be less grumpy for one _second_ of your miserable existence? Gods, I could _kiss_ —”

A strong wind blasted around the room, knocking the golden male backwards, and when she turned she saw another male knocked to the floor as well. This one was almost impossibly tall, with dark hair and even darker eyes that were angrily fixed on Aelin herself.

The black wolf beside him shifted as well, revealing the mirror image of the golden male who had approached her. “It’s true,” he murmured. “I don’t know what to make of it. But everything Fen said is true.”

Aelin’s gaze stuttered from male to male. It was too much, it was all too much, she couldn’t—

Warm arms scented with pine and snow surrounded her, and she buried her face in Rowan’s shirt, eyes squeezed shut to block out as much sensation as possible. Her fingers clutched at the utilitarian fabric, and a small part of her mind wondered what it would take to get him to wear finer shirts.

A larger part recognized that voice for the hysterical distraction that it was, but it was better than facing… _everything_. 

Finally, she realized Rowan was speaking to the others. “—sort this out later,” he was saying, the words rumbling in his chest so she felt as much as heard them. “We’ll have time, and Aelin came too close to a burnout. She needs rest.”

“She _killed our queen_!” the angry male shouted. “What has she _done_ to you, that you would not have her answer for what she’s done?”

Another growl, this one from Aedion, but she couldn’t even look at him. Not now.

A calmer voice rang out from across the room, one that hadn’t spoken yet as far as Aelin could recall. “She’s overwhelmed,” the voice pointed out. “We’ll have no answers from her in this state, none that make any sense anyway. Let Rowan take care of her, and let us speak to her companion.”

“And if her companion doesn’t wish to speak without her consent?” Aedion replied testily.

“It’s all right, cousin,” she called, pulling away from Rowan to look at him. “You can tell them whatever they need to know.”

She took one step toward him, then another, but she could feel the weakness of her knees and the trembling in her limbs. She had overextended herself, gone too far, and the strain of unleashing all of those accusations had taken its toll as well.

Soon she was swept back into Rowan’s grasp, one arm holding her legs at the knee and the other supporting her back. “As much as I admire your determination to handle everything all at once,” he said with a shake of his head, “not even you can take on the entire world at the same time. It’s all right to need rest.”

“Go on,” said the male that was standing beside Aedion. “Take her out of here. We’ll speak with her when she’s ready.”

Rowan didn’t say anything else to any of the others, instead silently stepping out into the hall and beginning to walk. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“I did live here, you know,” he said dryly. “I have rooms.”

“Why, Rowan Whitethorn,” she grinned, pretending to be scandalized. “Are you taking me to bed?”

“After a stunt like you just put us through?” he asked.

Aelin felt her face fall. Of course he wouldn’t want her that way. Being mates was no guarantee of love, or even of happiness. There had been times where she thought perhaps he wanted her, but that didn’t mean that he would ever act on it.

Before she could say anything, could play off her remark as a simple jest, he had shifted his grip on her, using the wall to support her back so he could grip her chin. “Aelin, of all the countless mistakes I’ve made over the course of my life, making you doubt this is among the greatest,” he confessed. “There is much we need to discuss, you and I, but I don’t want to have that conversation when you’re already overwhelmed.”

Aelin could scarcely believe her ears. “So then you… _are_ taking me to bed?”

“Aelin,” he purred next to her ear. “I am _absolutely_ taking you to bed.”

She grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck, only to fall asleep in his arms before they even reached their destination.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

It had been three days since Aelin had killed Maeve.

For three days, Aedion had sat in meeting after meeting, being forcibly reminded of why he preferred to command through action. Their every move and every piece of evidence had been thoroughly analyzed by the dark-haired demi-Fae that appeared to be the de facto leader of the former blood-sworn, and it was more than apparent that he found it lacking.

He hadn’t even been able to check on Aelin, though Whitethorn’s absence implied that she had yet to awaken. Aedion sighed; he supposed he should get used to thinking of the warrior as Rowan, given his relationship to his cousin. That would take a great deal of adjusting.

Truly, he wished Aelin would just wake up. He understood that the amount of magic she must have used would take a great deal of energy from her, but the sooner she awakened and the sooner she could talk to the group of Fae currently interrogating him, the sooner he could return home to his family.

At that thought, he couldn’t help glancing over at one of the males across the table in particular. He had never expected that he would meet his father, and so he had never given much thought to what he would do should the situation arise.

Years ago, or perhaps even a few months ago, he would’ve been unable to respond to the situation with anything other than anger. A large part of him still _was_ angry that this male had seen fit to just walk away from his mother, and hadn’t even bothered to make contact as she had been dying. But now that he had not only Lysandra to consider, but Evangeline as well, everything was changing for him.

He could still blame him for swearing a blood oath to someone he had to have known had a sadistic streak, but what if Aedion had already sworn himself to Aelin and she had threatened to use his connection to his family? There was very little he wouldn’t do to protect Lysandra; it had been that way for years now, ever since she had come to the palace. It was a little more surprising to realize how quickly Evangeline had carved herself a little spot in his heart right next to Lysandra’s.

Perhaps, he thought, he could understand the male’s position. Even if he couldn’t agree with the end result.

Finally, he glanced over at the irate demi-Fae leading the continued interrogation and belatedly realized he had been asked yet another question. “For the fourth and last time, I only have copies of the letters and the passage of the book Aelin was referencing. We agreed there was an inherent risk in bringing the originals to someone who would be interested in destroying them.” He resisted the urge to feign a yawn; the leader was already angry enough as it was. This line of questioning was so _boring_ , though. It might have been a clever tactic on someone else, but Aedion had been questioned before and had questioned others before. They would have to try harder than this.

“Then _where_ , exactly, are the originals?”

“That secret rests with my cousin. If you want to risk Whitethorn’s wrath and attempt to wake her, you’re more than welcome to do so.” In fact, Aedion would have loved to witness such a confrontation by this point. Anything had to be better than repeatedly answering the same handful of questions.

The demi-Fae male growled, and Aedion growled right back. He had played nicely for his cousin’s sake thus far, but he was quickly losing patience with all of this. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Rowan so carefully guarding Aelin until she woke up, he might have simply carried her out himself and booked the next ship across the sea, consequences be damned.

The other male—Gavriel—his _father_ —finally glanced up from the copies he had presented to them. “He’s not likely to give different answers at this point, Lorcan. Perhaps we should focus on ensuring a smooth transition of power? Maeve had no heir, and evidently no legitimate claim to our throne, and we need to determine what that means for us.”

The leader grimaced. “Mab’s line goes through the Ashryver family. The direct female descendant is his fire-breathing bitch princess. Mora’s… Whitethorn will know which of his cousins has the most direct claim.”

“It’ll go to Mora’s line, then,” Aedion commented. “Aelin won’t have any interest in ruling a land she’s never visited before.”

“Won’t she?” The leader was suddenly furious, dark eyes narrowed and darker power surrounding him. “Perhaps that’s why she came, after all.”

“It would mean war if she did,” another of the warriors pointed out calmly. This one, to the extent of Aedion’s knowledge, had been absent during the confrontation itself, and had yet to speak. “And it doesn’t make sense for her to begin with Doranelle, were she to become a conqueror. The Wastes would be an easier target, or perhaps Adarlan.”

The demi-Fae whirled around to glare at the speaker, then quietly grumbled to himself. Aedion took advantage of their distraction to quietly slip away.

It didn’t take someone with Aedion’s heightened senses to recognize that another had followed him out of the room, and it didn’t take a particularly wise man to guess who it had been. For a moment he contemplated not responding at all, walking away without acknowledging his presence, but finally he sighed and turned to face his father. “She died, you know,” he said, surprising even himself. “She didn’t have to. The Fae could have healed her, but she wouldn’t go.”

Gods, he wished he wasn’t having this conversation alone. Aelin might know what to say, and Lysandra…

Best not to think about her, not right now.

His father had frozen still, and vaguely he wondered if he could have felled the male simply by tapping his shoulder. He didn’t reply verbally, but that was all right. Aedion didn’t need an answer from him. “I realize now she was protecting me. From you. From your queen. From all of it.”

The golden male winced. “Aedion—”

Perhaps he had expected to feel anger or rage at the sound of his name on his father’s lips, now after all these years. Perhaps grief would have been a more reasonable expectation, sorrow for all the years missed. Perhaps even joy, for having found the male his mother had never once spoken of.

Instead of any of those, Aedion felt empty. His chest was hollow, and his voice devoid of all emotion when he replied, “I can’t do this right now.”

He left his father standing in the hallway, staring after him as he retreated to the rooms he’d borrowed.

* * *

Rowan sighed and glanced once more at the bed where Aelin laid, wishing he would see that she had awakened but knowing she would still be sleeping. She had drained so much of her power, and so much of it had been for his sake that he still felt a twinge in his chest if he dwelled on the thought for too long.

The instant Maeve had exposed herself, Aelin had surrounded him with a ring of fire to keep the shadows at bay, dropping the protective shield only when she needed his power to finish what she had set out to accomplish. It was something he would have done for her, if his power had been of a sufficient threat to the dark queen, but a large part of him was embarrassed that he had been surprised enough to require the assistance.

He knew Aelin would never blame him, though, not after all of the revelations she had made that day.

Perhaps the others would believe it if he told them he had been so surprised by the reveal of Maeve as a Valg queen and not Fae at all. She had long been cold and cruel, but she had done such an excellent job of hiding the truth that he knew he would never have guessed. Aelin had, though, and when she woke up he would have to ask her what had given her cause to suspect.

It was likely to be equally believable that he had been stunned into silence and stillness by the gift of his own freedom. He had hoped, certainly, that she would find a way for them to see each other again. The thought of being parted from his _carranam_ forever had been one that he had found unable to bear, and so he had avoided thinking about their inevitable split as much as possible. Perhaps, though, that should have given him cause to guess the revelation that had shocked him beyond all others, the single word that had caused his mind to fall completely silent for the first time in decades.

_ Mate _ .

Even as he had heard the word fall from her lips, though, he had known the truth of it. If he was completely honest with himself, part of him had suspected for quite some time, though he had always found yet another excuse, yet another reason to go on believing that he was wrong. Even now it was a struggle to believe that this could all be his.

Had Lyria ever been his true mate? Could Fae have more than one mate through the course of their lives? There was so much he didn’t know. He wasn’t certain if anyone in Doranelle would be able to tell him now. He supposed it didn’t matter now. Regardless of whether she had truly been his mate or whether he had been so terribly, terribly wrong, she was a part of his past that he couldn’t be rid of even if he wished to be. It was lucky, he supposed, that Aelin seemed to understand this, just as he understood the history that had led her to him.

As he had done so many times previously during these three long days, he strode over to the bed where Aelin lay pale and still, one hand reaching out to gently stroke her hair away from her face. This time was different, though, in that she made the softest noise in her sleep and her face turned to rest against his palm.

Rowan felt something within himself crack with the almost-painful joy that filled him with such a simple gesture, and soon he was sitting on the bed beside her. In response, she shifted again, and soon he found himself seated against the head of the bed with her face pressed against his hip and her arm thrown across his thighs. Another happy little sound fell from her lips, and a slight flush returned to her cheeks, and Rowan smiled down at her sleeping form. The movements and the sounds and the color returning to her were all signs that her magic had restored enough for her body to allow itself into a more natural sleep, and when taken together they indicated that she would awaken soon.

As delighted as he was that soon she would be awake, he also felt a small thrill of trepidation. After all, the last conversation they’d had before she left for Doranelle had gone so terribly wrong, all because he’d panicked. The brief conversation they’d had on the way here indicated that he had a lot to make up for. He intended to do so, but he wasn’t sure of the best way to start.

Her hand shifted higher up on his thigh, and he couldn’t quite suppress the resulting shiver. As much pleasure as even such a simple touch brought to him, though, he knew that if he allowed it to continue he would have little interest in actually talking to Aelin once she woke up. He carefully shifted her hand back down to its previous position, lingering for a moment to caress her hair once more before relaxing back against the head of the bed.

She didn’t seem to notice, or react to the movement beyond a tiny little sigh, and he allowed his mind to once more wander to what on earth he could say to her to counteract the way he had once frozen at her touch and then fled. Perhaps the best way to prove his intentions would be beyond what he could express with words, and only time would be able to show that he intended to stay by her side forever.

Aelin’s hand wandered upward again, and he gently caught it in his own, glancing down at her once more and immediately getting lost in turquoise eyes ringed with gold and dancing with wicked humor.

* * *

The first thing Aelin had noticed as she began to wake up was the comforting scent of snow-covered pines. For a brief moment, she had wondered if perhaps they had already returned to Terrasen, but as she had opened her eyes to an unfamiliar bed she’d finally recalled what had happened.

Gods, it was embarrassing to realize she had fallen asleep right at the most inopportune moment, though she supposed it was fortunate that it had been with Rowan. Of all people, he would understand the toll that magic could take.

It appeared that he had stayed with her throughout however long she had slept, for she was wrapped around one of his legs with her head pillowed against his hip. She shifted slightly, blushing faintly as the movement caused her hand to brush the inside of his thigh and quickly feigning continued sleep as he moved her hand to a more appropriate placement. It was only a few moments later, though, that she decided she would not be put off so easily. Not when everything had finally come out into the open, not now that they knew they were mates and she knew that he wanted her.

She had waited quite long enough for this.

The second brush of fingers across his leg was far more deliberate, and this time when he took her hand and glanced down at her she didn’t look away, holding his gaze and watching his expression change from bemusement to shock to something so warm she couldn’t help but melt at the sight. Rather than say something truly embarrassing, however, she grinned up at him. “Why, Prince Rowan, I must say this wasn’t quite what I had in mind when you said you were taking me to bed.”

“As much as I would hate to disappoint you, I was hardly going to bed an invalid,” he retorted, though relief was shining clearly in those beautiful green eyes. The rough amusement of his voice was belied by the gentle touch of his fingers in her hair, carefully tucking a stray lock behind her ear.

Aelin sat up with a groan. “How long did I sleep?”

“Three days.” He pulled her into himself, her back to his chest and her hips nested between his thighs, and she turned her head to smile up at him. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his fingertips brushing along her jawline.

“I’m feeling like there’s a promise my mate has yet to follow through with,” she teased, though the suddenly-serious expression on his face caused her own easy smile to falter. “Rowan…”

“How long have you known?”

She supposed that was the easiest question he could’ve started with, though she still drew in a deep breath before replying. “From the moment I fell into your arms after escaping Arobynn Hamel’s home and realized it felt like I was home,” she replied. “I was… I wasn’t certain at first, given that you’ve already been mated, but then the night before I left…”

He grimaced then, and it was her turn to reach up and touch his face. “I panicked, then,” he admitted. “I regretted it almost immediately. And then when I returned—to apologize, or to do _something_ at least to try and make it right, and found you missing, it was like a piece of myself had gone with you.”

“I couldn’t tell you what I was doing,” Aelin said by way of apology. “You would’ve been forced to stop me, by the oath that once bound you.”

“I understand.” His fingers slid under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “But next time you leave in the middle of the night, your _only_ two options are telling me where you’re going or taking me with you. Am I clear?”

“So demanding,” she purred. “Luckily for you, I have no intention of ever being parted from you for any lengthy period of time again if I can help it.”

She leaned in then, determined to finally, _finally_ kiss him, but he stopped her with a gentle hand pressing against her shoulder. “Aelin, I…”

“I know,” she said. “We can talk about it as much as you want later. But right now, I don’t know when we’ll next have a moment like this again, and—”

His lips were on hers then, and rather than attempt to continue the conversation she slid her hand to the back of his head.

She had thought she knew what it was to be kissed. She had done exactly that with Sam on countless moonlit nights, and then once again with Dorian. It had always been pleasant enough before, but Aelin was quickly coming to realize that kissing Rowan could hardly be described by such an inadequate word as _pleasant_. No, kissing Rowan was everything—his ice colliding with her fire, the sensation both taking her breath away and fanning a flame that resided deep within her core. It was better than she could’ve dreamed—and she _had_ dreamed of this, she could admit it to herself now, had spent long nights twisted in her sheets and waking up gasping at imagined sensations.

He pulled back, just long enough to take a breath, and she couldn’t quite help the noise that escaped her then. Nor could she help the urge to crush her lips to his once more, an urge she succumbed to happily. She tangled her fingers into silver hair, holding him close to her, though he seemed to share her desire to remain close if the arm wrapped around her waist was any indication.

A muscle in her side twinged, and he pulled free of her once more as she winced. Before he could say a word, though, she turned in his embrace, straddling his thighs and resting one hand on each side of his face. “I’m fine, Rowan,” she reassured him. “Better than fine, even, unless you get it into your head to do something as stupid as stop—”

His lips brushed her jaw then, and she couldn’t contain the gasp that left her. She allowed her head to fall to the side as his hands skimmed up her sides, slipping under the fabric of what she belatedly realized was his shirt. “If that is what my queen commands, then I can only obey,” he smirked.

She shivered, and spent a dizzying moment wondering what she would need to do to ensure that he never stopped calling her _my queen_. “In that case, your queen commands that we not leave this room until we have no other option, or until I say otherwise,” she grinned.

He laughed, the sound all dark tones that resonated deep within her and made her toes curl. “I’ve spent three days wondering what words I needed to say for you to allow me to remain at your side,” he admitted. “But if you would rather I do my persuading with teeth and tongue…”

He nipped at her neck then, the sensation immediately recalling a day in the sparring ring what felt like forever ago, and Aelin moaned. “I think that sounds like a brilliant idea.”

* * *

Rowan wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t some sort of dream, even as Aelin leaned in to kiss him again. He had spent so long carefully convincing himself that this very thing wasn’t within the realm of possibility that he almost didn’t know what to do now that it decidedly _was._

He wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass him by, however. Gods knew he had squandered enough chances by now.

With that in mind, he carefully flipped them so that Aelin was sprawled on the mattress, golden hair spilling across his pillow in a way he’d been longing to see for longer than he cared to admit. She glanced up at him, lips pursed in a blend of confusion and irritation, but before she could say a word he was kneeling over her and kissing that confused frown away.

Her skin tasted just as he remembered from that one time he had bitten her, all floral jasmine and simmering embers, and it was enough to drive him mad with longing. His hands once more slipped under the shirt that was covering her— _his_ shirt, into which he’d changed her so as to prevent her from sleeping in riding leathers—and she rose to meet his touch, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

The shirt had to go, and it was only a moment’s work to tear it open, leaving her fully exposed to his gaze. He had seen every inch of her before, of course, stolen glances while working to heal her as well as that morning she had gone to look at her own scars. None of those moments compared to this, with her warm and wanting beneath him. The flush of her cheeks spread across her chest as well, accenting the curve of her firm breasts tipped with rose-colored peaks. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and as his fingertips swept up the plane of her toned stomach and along her ribs she let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a whisper of his name.

He had to taste her again then, and from there he allowed himself to kiss along the curve of her neck and her shoulder before dipping lower. A flick of his tongue over her nipple granted him a startled cry and a breathy _please_ , and he obediently took the hardened nub of flesh into his mouth as his hand stroked back down her side to caress her thigh.

At the barest suggestion from his fingertips she spread her legs for him, and he slid his hand between them, tracing circles on her inner thigh until she was begging him for more with her words as well as her movements, the arch of her hips all the more appealing for its artlessness. Slowly, he allowed his fingers to wander ever closer to the slick skin awaiting him at the juncture of her thighs, not quite allowing himself to touch just yet. Her fingers twisted into his hair in response, tugging sharply enough to make him hiss and glance up at her.

She pulled him towards her once again, and he followed where she led eagerly, kissing her once again. As his tongue brushed against hers, though, he realized that perhaps there was one more thing he needed to say to her before this could carry on any further. “I love you,” he whispered into the skin of her neck, smiling as she shivered in response.

“You love me?” she asked, voice husky from their current activities.

He pulled back, just enough to look into her eyes as he replied. “To whatever end.”

She surged up to meet him then, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she kissed him again and again. “I love you,” she breathed between kisses, “and you are _mine._ ”

It was his turn, then, to shiver at her blatant claim of him. “I am yours,” he agreed, “just as much as you are mine.”

And then he was kissing his way down her body, past her breasts and along her stomach. He had just reached her navel when she seemed to realize his plan with a gasp, her fingers returning to their position in his hair as he finally slid his hands up her thighs to part them further and lowered his head between them.

She tasted just as perfect here as she did everywhere else; perhaps even more so. Even more rewarding than her taste, though, was the sharp cry of his name accompanied by a tug on his hair as he flicked his tongue against her. He laughed against her skin as her hips rose to meet him, allowing his hands to slip under the curve of her hips to pull her ever closer.

Before long, she was alternately praising him and cursing him as he continued to tease the tiny nub of flesh tucked between her thighs, hips almost thrashing in his firm grip. “Please,” she begged, and Rowan glanced up at her to find her chest heaving and her cheeks red from pleasure and exertion. “Rowan, please, I need—”

Her head tossed back with another cry then as he slowly pressed a finger into her, curling it slightly to stroke against her from the inside. “ _More_ ,” she begged as he licked over her once again, and he obediently added a second finger beside the first. Her hips rolled against his hand and his tongue in an undulating motion, her grip on his hair tightening further and her spare hand sliding up towards her breasts, then faltering and falling to fist in the sheets. Her moans and pleas rose in pitch and in volume, and soon her core was tightening around his fingers and her voice broke on a shout of his name.

He pressed one more kiss against her flesh before she was pulling him up again, and he carefully removed his fingers from her before allowing her to guide him back in for yet another kiss to her lips. Her hands slid down his back, pausing when she reached the trousers he still wore. “These have to go,” she demanded, and he grinned in reply.

“As my queen commands,” he said as his own hand fell to the first of the buttons that fastened the trousers around him.

* * *

Aelin was positive that she had died and gone to the Afterworld. It couldn’t be possible to love someone this much, to feel this much pleasure at their touch. She was already falling apart, already _burning_ inside, and they had barely begun.

He _definitely_ knew what he was doing—she had suspected as much, given that she was far from his first, but to believe that and to experience it were different things altogether. She knew that she was far from his level of experience, and though she knew he wouldn’t judge her for it she knew she wanted to at least try to make him feel as good as he was making her feel.

It was this thought that emboldened her enough to wrap her hand around the length of him once he had bared himself for her, stroking once and marveling at the sensation of such soft skin over something so firm. He hissed in response, pressing forward into her grip, and she couldn’t keep a smile from her face. “That feels good?”

He nodded, elongated canines grazing her skin as he nuzzled his face against her neck. Before she could do anything else, though, his fingers encircled her wrist, halting the motion of her hand. “You don’t have to,” he began.

Aelin responded by arching one of her eyebrows. “And if I want to?”

“You wouldn’t rather save this part of yourself, in the event you need to make a more politically expedient union?”

Irritation flared in her then, and she instinctively leaned in and nipped at his neck. “I would rather make my own decisions, and I’ve decided I want to share this with my mate. Though if he keeps being a bird-brained idiot, I might change my mind.”

He laughed then, and she was about to unleash an irritated tirade on him when he simply said, “I suppose that’s fair.”

“I should certainly hope so,” she retorted, cutting off any reply he could’ve made by moving her hand along his length once more and reveling in the resulting gasp.

The minor argument had done nothing to diminish the arousal she felt, and judging by the weight of him in her palm and the lust shimmering in his eyes he felt the same way. She watched as he lowered his head to see the movement of her hand on him, and then suddenly he pulled her close once more in a kiss that stole what was left of her breath away.

His fingers brushed between her thighs once more and she moaned into his mouth, hooking one of her legs around one of his to tug him ever closer. “Please, Rowan,” she pleaded, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. “Please, I—”

Words failed her then, but he seemed to know precisely what it was she was asking of him regardless. In a smooth motion he braced himself above her with a hand beside her head. The other slid down her side and then moved away to help him guide himself into her.

Gods, and she had thought being filled with his fingers was perfection. This went so far beyond that sensation that she didn’t have the words to describe it even if she had found herself miraculously able to speak. Instead, she whimpered something that sounded vaguely like his name and clutched at his shoulders, feeling the muscles of his upper back ripple as he rolled his hips slowly against hers.

When he was fully inside of her his lips found hers again, and she kissed him back, desperately trying to cling to some semblance of reality. Then he began to move and she was lost.

Her head tossed back, baring her throat to him, and her fingertips dug in at his shoulders at the delightful friction of his thrusts. With a groan, he traced the curve of her neck with his lips and then his teeth, and Aelin slid one of her hands into his hair to keep him there, dragging the nails of her other hand down his back. He growled in response and his hips slammed into her, but his teeth at her neck remained so surprisingly gentle, and the dichotomy of it only fueled the fire burning within her.

She opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—and as she tugged on his hair so she could look into his eyes the fire within her rose up, as hot as the burnout but infinitely sweeter. Keeping her gaze locked on his, she deliberately arched her neck, giving him silent permission to do what he was so clearly longing to.

His teeth sank into the skin of her neck and release crashed over her like a wave, leaving her trembling in his grasp and shouting his name for all the world to hear. His found him soon after, and then it was her turn to hold him as he groaned into her neck and spilled inside of her.

She let out a soft whine as he eased his teeth from her skin and began planting soft kisses over her face and neck. “Gods,” she managed. “I never thought… I couldn’t have _imagined_ …”

“I couldn’t have either,” he admitted, pine-green eyes softer and warmer than she had ever seen them.

A swell of affection rose in her at the sight, and she couldn’t keep it from spilling out into words. “I love you.”

He smiled, truly smiled, and it was like watching the sun rise. “I never thought I would have the privilege of hearing those words from your lips.”

She laughed softly. “It _is_ a privilege, isn’t it?”

He nipped at her neck again, but she only laughed harder. “What would you say,” she asked, “if I told you that my first demand of you as both my mate and my blood-sworn was that we do this as often as we can manage it?”

He chuckled and rolled his hips again, and she gasped with the realization that he had hardly even softened. “I would say we would find it difficult to get any work done,” he replied, and soon after that they were both lost in each other once more and there were no more words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading this far!


	19. Chapter Eighteen

The next day, Rowan looked on with amusement as Aelin met with Lorcan. She had already spoken with Aedion, of course, and her cousin had spent an exceedingly long time venting his frustrations regarding the other demi-Fae.

He hadn’t mentioned his father at all, but Rowan had known it would be a bad idea to press him on the subject, especially in front of Aelin. He would talk about it when he was ready.

As Lorcan snarled wordlessly, Rowan turned his attention back to the conversation at hand. “See, it’s funny,” Aelin was saying, one finger touching her chin in a dramatic parody of thought. “If I recall correctly, the throne of Doranelle is matrilineal, is it not? Which means you can’t _possibly_ be in charge here, and therefore would be unfit to cast judgment on me.”

Rowan bit back a laugh in favor of adopting an expression that he hoped looked suitably stern. Lorcan, on the other hand, had no such problems. “As you _murdered_ our previous queen, you don’t get a say in how you are judged,” he snarled.

“The creature I destroyed was neither Fae nor your true queen.” Aelin was carefully inspecting the nails on her left hand. “You should be thanking me, really.”

It was exactly the wrong thing to say to Lorcan, though Aelin couldn’t have possibly known that. Perhaps it was time to intercede. “Aelin…”

Lorcan’s frosty glare became fixed on him instead. “Yes, Whitethorn, by all means get your bitch-queen in line.”

Rowan growled at his former commander, but Aelin only laughed. “Oh, I like that. But it’s missing something. Something… _fiery_.” As she said it she called one of her flames into existence, and it danced over her fingertips before she allowed it to vanish in a puff of smoke.

Most men would have missed the cold calculation in her gaze when she looked at Lorcan once more, a look borrowed straight from her persona as Celaena—or perhaps this was a part of herself she had been allowed and even encouraged to express as Celaena. Rowan recognized it, however, with a tightening in the pit of his stomach and a surge of arousal’s warmth.

Shit, it had been a bad idea to bed Aelin so soon before they would have to be reasonable and professional adults. He should have known, should have remembered that the usual Fae possessiveness immediately after taking a new lover was so much worse when it was your mate. What was usually three or so days of irritation at the presence of almost anyone else became absolutely unbearable when the union meant more.

Nothing had prepared him for anything about Aelin, however, so he supposed this should be no different.

When he finally remembered himself, Lorcan was staring at the hand that had commanded those flames with a blend of fear and anger. “You fire-breathing _bitch_ ,” he hissed.

Aelin smirked. “ _There_ it is. Fire-breathing bitch-queen. Rowan, we’ll have to write that down somewhere, add it to my list of titles or something.”

“I’m glad you’re so amused,” Rowan grumbled.

Rowan was not at _all_ amused. It was bad enough that Lorcan was anywhere _near_ Aelin right now. The fact that he was antagonizing her only made it worse. If this continued for much longer… well. He would just have to hope that it didn’t.

“Someone has to make up for you two. Is it a Fae thing, to be so utterly joyless? Or is it just the two of you?” She smiled at him, and the rest of the room faded away as he remembered the way she had smiled that very morning, the way she had laughed into the pillows and then moaned as he’d entered her from behind—

 _Shit_. He had to focus, or they would never get out of this room and Lorcan would probably kill both of them before blinding himself. He wasn’t exactly known for forgiveness, or for restraint.

Thankfully, Aelin didn’t seem to require a response, for she was already speaking again. “Now. As the direct descendant of Mab, I’d like to officially renounce any claim I may have to your throne. But I can only do that in the presence of the descendant of Mora, who would rightfully inherit Maeve’s crown. She didn’t wear a crown, though, did she?”

“Why should I allow you to meet with her?” Lorcan asked, seething with barely-restrained anger. “You waltzed in here and murdered Maeve with little proof and no hesitation.”

“You weren’t actually present for that, were you?” she asked. “So you wouldn’t actually _know_ what I did or did not do or say. Which means you’re speculating, which means you’re letting your own emotions get in the way of the truth.”

Rowan winced. Aelin truly had a knack for saying exactly the wrong thing; Lorcan’s devotion to his dark queen had been as fierce and passionate as any love, though it had been as dark and twisted as Maeve herself. Maeve, in turn, had taken delight in spurning him at every turn, but that hadn’t stopped Lorcan from wishing things had been different, or from taking on more and more daring and dubious tasks in some twisted attempt to prove himself to her.

As he’d expected, Lorcan snarled at that, baring his canines to her. What he had _not_ expected, but should have, was the strength of his own reaction.

One of his blades found itself embedded in the table between them as a frosty wind began to blow through the room. “This ends _now_ ,” he growled as Lorcan threw up a shield made of his own dark power.

“Och, you’ll have to forgive Rowan for being such an overbearing buzzard,” Aelin said to Lorcan, though Rowan didn’t miss her affectionate gaze in his own direction. “Although I hear all Fae males are like that, so perhaps you’d understand better than I do.”

Lorcan, meanwhile, had turned his glare in Rowan’s direction. “Tell me, were you warming her bed while you were still sworn to Maeve, or did you take her before the dust had settled in that throne room?”

Before Rowan could do anything more than snarl in reply, a cocoon of fire melted through Lorcan’s shield. “I’ll have to ask you to leave Rowan out of this,” Aelin said, all amusement gone from her voice. “I’d say this is between you and me, but it truly isn’t. It’s between me and Mora’s heir, whoever that may be. I’ll give you a day to produce her.”

In the blink of an eye, the fire disappeared, and Aelin stalked out of the room. Rowan followed without a second glance at his former commander.

* * *

It turned out that Mora’s heir was one of Rowan’s many distant cousins, and Aelin immediately sent him out to find her. Not only did it give her the opportunity to talk to Aedion in relative peace, but it also meant that they would be able to return to Terrasen that much faster.

Aelin sighed. For all that Doranelle was a beautiful city, she missed the mountains and forests that she called home. It seemed Aedion did as well, for he had been all too eager to begin packing what little he had brought with him. She suspected there was more to it than simple longing to see his mate again, but if there was something that had gone wrong Aedion wasn’t talking about it.

Perhaps she would be able to wrangle the truth out of him on the journey home.

As she watched a white-tailed hawk and a golden eagle circle over the palace together she adjusted the leather of her jerkin, wishing once more that she had thought to bring some finer clothes. She would make do with what she had, of course, but meeting the next Queen of Doranelle in riding leathers seemed… incorrect, somehow. She could only hope Rowan’s cousin would understand.

Gods, and that was a whole _other_ thing to be nervous about. This was the first of Rowan’s family she was to meet, and it was all because she had killed the previous queen. What a terrible way to introduce herself to her mate’s family. There was nothing to be done for it, though, except to hope that she would believe Aelin’s story with the evidence she could give.

As if he could sense that she needed the encouragement—and he probably _could_ , given their bond—the hawk swooped down from the skies, landing as delicately as he could on her shoulder. She smiled as he began to run his beak through her carefully braided hair. “Och, you. Don’t you pull any of that out,” she muttered.

Rowan only clicked his beak and took off from her shoulder, shifting midair to land by her side. As their eyes met, beneath the lust that quickly rose to the surface she could see he was trying to reassure her. _You’re worrying too much. You’ve made it this far._

Aelin took a deep breath, doing her best to calm her nerves. As she did, the eagle still circling above them landed across the courtyard from where she and Rowan stood, shifting into the form of a Fae female.

It was easy to tell from just a passing glance that she and Rowan were related, the long silver hair and pine-green eyes proclaiming their shared lineage. She stood about as tall as Aelin did, and while her smile was pleasant her eyes were calculating, taking Aelin’s measure just as Aelin was doing to her. She wore a simple pale dress, which Aelin noted with relief given her own lack of clothing options, and twin braids framed her face but the remainder of her long silvery hair was allowed to flow loosely down her back.

Rowan stepped forward then, linking his fingers with Aelin’s to pull her along as well. “Aelin, this is Sellene Whitethorn, my cousin and heir of Mora. Sellene, this is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir of Mab, crown princess of Terrasen… and my mate.” His tone turned wondering at the end, like he still couldn’t quite believe it, and at the sound she could’ve sworn her heart skipped a beat.

Sellene smiled at her then, gesturing toward a path. “Why don’t you walk with me? It would seem that we have much to discuss, given what Rowan has told me.”

“We do indeed. I must say I wish we had met under better circumstances.”

Sellene’s eyes glimmered with barely-concealed amusement. “From what I hear, you freed us all from a most despicable creature. I would think there could be no better circumstance.”

Aelin turned to stare at Rowan, who was looking innocently at a nearby tree. “So Rowan has already informed you of why he was sent to find you, then.”

“Of course he did,” she replied. “I was hardly going to leave my home with no explanation.”

“I suppose that’s fair. Truthfully, I’m grateful you’re willing to speak with me.”

“Rowan tells me I am to be the Fae Queen of the East now. I would like to begin by obtaining the truth of our previous queen’s death for myself, that I may fairly judge the situation.” Sellene approached her then, offering an arm which Aelin took. “There is a lovely pavilion near here, overlooking one of the many rivers that form our city. We can speak there without interruption.”

“That sounds wonderful. I haven’t had much opportunity to take in the views for which your city is famous during my stay,” she admitted.

“Of course you haven’t. It seems my cousin has been keeping you busy,” Sellene grinned, eyes knowing.

Aelin fought valiantly against the blush that was rising in her cheeks, and only partially succeeded. “I—”

“We all understand what it is like to be newly mated, Aelin. You need not fear judgment from me,” the older female interrupted. “Now, come. Let us decide our futures together, as our ancestors the Sister-Queens once did.”

Aelin nodded her agreement, and together they began to walk along the path, Rowan following close behind until Sellene twisted her fingers and a shield of hard air appeared at their backs. “My dear cousin, I’m afraid I must ask you to part from your mate for a little while. She will return to you shortly.”

Rather than simply leave, Rowan looked to Aelin. Before he could ask her for instructions, though, she waved him off. “Go on, buzzard. Shoo. I’ll meet you back at your rooms.”

Rowan shook his head before shifting and taking flight, flying so close to Aelin’s head that she ducked and laughed before entering the palace through a window.

Sellene smiled as she looked on, before once more leading Aelin down the path on which they were standing. “Now, tell me everything,” she demanded, and Aelin began to speak.

* * *

Lorcan was already waiting for Rowan when he re-entered the palace, and he bit back a grimace when he noticed the other warrior’s presence. “She’s with Sellene now. They stopped me from following before they could say anything substantial.”

Lorcan growled. “And you listened to them?”

“I bound myself to Aelin with a blood oath,” Rowan retorted. “I cannot disobey, as you well know.” It wasn’t strictly true for this specific situation; Aelin had not made her request a true command under the oath, and he had felt no compulsion. Lorcan didn’t need to know that, however.

“Speaking of your decisions regarding her,” Lorcan began with a sneer. Rowan couldn’t restrain the snarl that left him in response, even if he had bothered to try. However, that didn’t halt his former companion. “Did you come here intending to betray Maeve, or was that simply an additional perk for you?”

“Aelin told me nothing of her plans, knowing I would be compelled to stop her if I knew. I followed because of Maeve’s orders to remain close in proximity to Aelin, and because I believed a meeting between the two of them was a terrible risk.”

Lorcan scowled, glancing out over the grounds as if he would be able to hear them if he could only find them. “So you followed this girl while she came to murder our queen. And then you swore yourself to her. Now you’re bedding her, and allowing her access to our future queen _completely alone_. When are you going to come to your senses?”

“I began to come to my senses when I learned Aelin and I were _carranam_ ,” he snapped, “and when I realized that was something Maeve would never allow, given her unique brand of cruelty. Even if you discount the fact that she wasn’t Fae—”

“Which we _cannot prove,_ ” Lorcan hissed.

Rowan growled. “ _Even if_ you choose not to see that, you must see that she had much to answer for. We may have all chosen her oath, but many of us had little other choice. Unless you were going to have a better life than most of the demi-Fae who were allowed into the city, Maeve’s oath was your best chance to prove yourself. We all know how she entrapped the Moonbeam twins. Gods know why Gavriel or Vaughan swore the oath.”

“And you think your new tyrant will be so much better?”

“Aelin has never once forced a command on me,” he admitted. “And her oath… it feels different. Warm. Like a gentle tug rather than claws raking down the base of my skull.”

Lorcan scoffed. “Romantic foolishness.”

“Perhaps.”

Lorcan scowled, glancing out of the window once more. “She could be doing _anything_ right now. I don’t like it.”

“She said she would be formally renouncing any claim she may have to Maeve’s throne, granting Sellene uncontested rights as Mora’s heir. We don’t have any reason to doubt that.”

“Speak for yourself. I have _every_ reason to doubt that.”

A sudden thought struck Rowan. “Tell me, do you intend to swear yourself to Sellene if she asks?”

Lorcan turned to face him again. “Do you think she will?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I know she didn’t approve of the way Maeve used the oath, but I don’t know if that means she’ll abandon the practice altogether.”

His former companion sighed. “There’s too much we don’t know about this. None of us expected Maeve to require an heir. Sellene is completely untrained.”

“Not completely untrained,” Rowan countered. “Unseasoned, yes. She could use sound advice as she settles into her duties.”

“And you think _we_ are the ones who can give her that,” Lorcan frowned.

“Who better? We had a… _unique_ insight into the way Maeve ran Doranelle. You and the others can provide stability as we navigate this change.”

“And what of you?”

Rowan smiled. “I doubt Sellene will want me to linger for long, bound to another queen as I am. I suppose I’ll be going back to Terrasen before long.”

A swirl of ice around a twisting flame startled them both into looking out of the window once more, Lorcan growling at the sight. “I _told_ you she couldn’t be trusted!”

“They’re not fighting,” Rowan said distantly. “Can’t you feel it in the magic? It’s… playful.”

Lorcan stared at him as though he had grown a second head. “Magic is magic. I thought you were better than that.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Rowan frowned. It was certainly not something he would’ve thought or said before…

Before the bond.

“It’s the bond,” he realized. “I wasn’t feeling their magic, but Aelin’s intentions.”

Lorcan sniffed. “Even more foolish and less provable.”

The swirling ice and flame exploded into embers that danced with snow in a dazzling display, and Rowan smiled. “That is not how offensive magic behaves. They’re testing each other, perhaps. But they’re not attempting any harm.”

Soon enough, the two future queens proved Rowan’s point for him by reappearing once more along the path they had taken. They were laughing together, and Sellene had crowned Aelin in ice while flames danced around Sellene’s head. “See? They both seem unharmed,” he pointed out.

Lorcan glanced down at them and then sneered. “So your bitch-queen has ensnared yet another Whitethorn—”

Rowan had had quite enough of Lorcan talking that way about Aelin, and before he could fully realize what he was doing a band of ice was pinning Lorcan to the nearest wall. “ _Do not_ speak of her that way in front of me,” he snarled. “You don’t have to like her. Beyond the next several days, it’s doubtful you will have to even _see_ her again.”

Lorcan’s own dark power emerged, and the ice shattered. “Don’t condescend to me when you _bound_ yourself to her.”

“And given the choice, I would choose her every time,” he snapped. “You are not required to approve of it, and I know far better than to ask for your blessing. But I will not tolerate you speaking that way about her.”

Rowan didn’t give Lorcan any further chance to reply. Instead, he shifted and flew out of the window, darting back into the palace closer to his rooms. After all, Aelin had said she would meet him there, and as far as he was concerned they still had several days’ worth of celebrating their newfound freedom from Maeve to catch up on.

* * *

Sellene’s coronation as Fae Queen of the East was a simple affair, and a few short days later she personally escorted them to the nearest port city. While Maeve had never left the city of Doranelle, Sellene felt it was important to get to know the Fae she now ruled over, and had told Aelin that this would be only the first stop on a tour through the lands.

Finally they reached the sea, and Aelin took a moment to watch the sunlight glimmer on the waves.

“You wouldn’t be hesitating now, would you? We’re finally on our way home.” Aedion’s eyes were fixed on the ship that awaited them when she turned to look at him.

“I know we are,” Aelin replied. “But there’s one more thing I need to do before we can leave, cousin.”

“And you’re only just now telling me this?”

“Yes,” she said with a pointed glance in the direction of a certain white-tailed hawk circling above them.

Rowan had spent most of the days traveling in flight with his cousin, a hawk and an eagle ever scouting ahead, screeching to each other with the joy that must come with soaring on the breeze. In the evenings he returned to her side, holding her as though he never wished to let her go and kissing her as though she was his entire world.

On a small handful of nights they had crept away from the camps and joined together again, and Aelin still felt a small thrill simply from thinking about every soft noise she’d pulled from his lips. It had been a risk, certainly, to press him against a tree and sink to her knees before him, and the entire time she’d worried just a little about getting caught. But his reactions had been _so_ very worth all of the risk.

All of that joy they had found in each other over the past few days would only make this next step harder, however.

They made their way down to the docks, and Aelin turned to face Sellene once more. “Thank you for your hospitality these past days,” she said.

Sellene smiled. “The world is to have two Sister-Queens once more. I would prefer that we remain on good terms, and that together we may rule over the Fae as one. As our ancestors did before us.”

“I would like that,” Aelin agreed.

“Once you are crowned, Doranelle will recognize you as the Faerie Queen of the West, overseeing the Fae of Erilea as we rule the Fae of this continent,” Sellene declared, green eyes gleaming with determination. “Write to me when you are approved, and I’ll ensure it is done as quickly as we can.”

“I will,” she promised.

Rowan landed beside her and shifted then, his arm finding its way around her waist as it so often did. Sellene smiled at the two of them. “Are you ready?”

Aelin nodded her reply. “It will be as we discussed. Rowan?”

He turned to face her in confusion, and with a twinge of regret she reached into herself for the oath that tethered him to her, giving it a gentle tug. “You are to remain here with Sellene,” she said, watching his eyes widen in surprise. “She needs assistance with ensuring a smooth transition of power, and you will be invaluable to her for that purpose. When she deems your tasks to be done, then you may return to me.”

Anger flared in his eyes, then. “Did it not occur to you to _ask_ me?”

Aelin smiled, though there was no joy in it. “Would you have accepted it as necessary to be parted from me, even just for a few weeks?”

Rowan’s scowl told her he knew perfectly well she was correct, but that he was upset with her regardless. “ _Is_ it necessary?”

“I’m afraid it is. Without you it will take months rather than weeks for Sellene to assume her throne. I cannot spare even a few more weeks. You know I’ve been away from Terrasen too long. Besides, there is something there that I must do without your presence.”

 _And what is it that you cannot possibly do in my presence?_ his eyes demanded.

_I must meet with the lords of Terrasen._

Pine-green eyes suddenly widened with understanding. “You’re going back for your crown.”

“I am,” she replied.

Rowan finally nodded. _I wish you had told me sooner. I understand why you’re doing this alone, but I would have liked to bid you farewell properly._

Aelin bit her lip. _Had I given you advance warning, you would have convinced me to allow you to return to Terrasen with me._

_I would certainly have tried. I doubt I would have met with success._

_I am honored by your impression of my determination, but I assure you I would have been sorely tempted. Especially if your argument had consisted of your face between my thighs._

Rowan spluttered then, ears turning pink, and Aelin grinned.

“Disgusting,” Aedion chuckled in the distance.

“You’ll be just as bad as soon as we get home, if not worse, cousin,” Aelin retorted, her eyes never leaving Rowan’s.

Finally, he pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her brow. Before she could do more than reach to wrap her arms around him as well, he was already gone, shifting and flying in a circle around them. He landed on her shoulder briefly, brushing her cheek with the tip of his wing, before screeching and flying off, his cousin shifting to join him.

Aelin winced. It appeared he hadn’t quite forgiven her yet, if he was willing to screech at full volume directly into her ear. She hoped that she would be able to make it up to him soon.

Aedion laughed. “You really do have a knack for irritating those around you.”

“It’s my greatest charm,” she grinned, though her gaze stayed fixed on the hawk flying beside a golden eagle until they disappeared from view. “Now, let’s go home.”

And as she and her cousin turned to the ship that would bear them across the sea, Aelin took a deep breath and began to walk forward.

She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and she had a crown to win. She would not be afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will likely be two more chapters and then an epilogue at this point. We are nearing the end, and I just want to reiterate that I am so thankful to all of you who have read this far.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Aelin frowned as she looked over yet another draft of a letter, grabbing at the candle on her desk to keep it steady as a particularly large wave rocked the ship. “I hate formal letters,” she grumbled.

Aedion chuckled from the bed across the room from her own. “It can’t possibly be any worse than the… seventeen previous attempts,” he said as he glanced at the scraps of paper littering the area around her.

“Aedion, this is _important._ ” She sighed, tugging at her own hair. “Everything is on the line, and I need it to be perfect.”

“How is it,” he asked, “that you can be absolutely fearless facing down a _Valg queen_ and yet be so defeated by a simple piece of paper?”

“Says the male who couldn’t even tell me he’d met his _father_ before we’d already left Wendlyn,” Aelin retorted unthinkingly before immediately regretting her words.

Rather than get angry, though, Aedion only sighed. Aelin frowned; he must truly have been torn about the situation, if he wasn’t yelling at her. “Says the male who followed you to face down said Valg queen,” he replied, though it was without any of his usual teasing.

“Very well,” she said primly. “If _you_ would like to write to the lords and request this meeting, then by all means.” She stood up and positioned herself beside the desk chair, sweeping an arm toward it in a grand gesture with a grin.

He finally laughed, and though it was a shadow of his normal reaction it made her smile regardless. “You don’t want me writing to the lords under your name. They’d only hate you more.”

Aelin sighed, tugging at the end of her own braid. “It was easier when I didn’t care how they felt about me, you know.”

“I know.” Aedion stood then, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “But for what it’s worth, the fact that you care—and that all you’ve done here, you’ve done for Terrasen—those facts, not any pretty words you can put on a paper, are what will hold the most sway.”

“I hope you’re right.” She leaned against him, head resting against his shoulder. “I’m certainly not good at pretty words. You saw my letter to Galen, right?”

He chuckled at the memory. “’Terrasen remembers Evalin Ashryver.’ So needlessly dramatic.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” she asked, defensive. “He met with me, and he even agreed with me.”

“I never questioned your results, cousin, only your methods.”

Aelin let out a noise that sounded embarrassingly close to a squawk, outraged. “My methods are what got us to this point, _cousin_ ,” she reminded him. “They brought us the proof we needed as well as the support of other royal lines. Not to mention the end of a longstanding enemy of Terrasen. Oh, _and_ a Valg queen.”

“That reminds me,” Aedion drawled as Aelin froze, “I wanted to ask you about how you knew of this Arobynn Hamel in the first place.”

Aelin winced. While it had been easy enough to avoid the question with Captain Westfall, she knew Aedion would not be so easily put off. Not to mention the fact that she was fairly certain he was still upset with her for keeping her plans from him. If she didn’t handle this in just the right way, she was liable to have a far larger fight with her only surviving family than she was prepared for.

And she was certainly not prepared to handle the situation correctly now, not while there was so much else to do. Instead, she sighed. “Can we talk about him later?” she pleaded. “I really do need to work out what I’m going to say to the lords.”

“You’re terrified,” he said softly, as if in realization. “I didn’t stop to think of _why_ you never told me. I was just angry that you were leaving me out when I could help.”

Aelin grimaced. “Is it truly that obvious?”

“It likely wouldn’t be to many others. Only to those who know you well.”

With a wave of her hand, she extinguished the flame of the candle on her desk. She wasn’t going to get any further on the letter, not right now. Perhaps she would go up to the deck and let the motion of the waves ease her mind. That plan had the further benefit of ending this conversation; Aedion was avoiding looking at the ocean for any great length of time.

Before she could leave, though, Aedion spoke again. “Tell me, Aelin. What are you so afraid of? Why would you keep all of this to yourself, for so long?”

Aelin sighed. So the truth-telling was to start now after all, then. “You’ll hate me,” she whispered.

“I could never hate you.” His reply was soft and yet fierce, and when she looked at him she saw a fire in his eyes that matched her own.

“Truly?” she asked. “Even if I nearly left Terrasen with no clear ruler?”

There was no hesitation in Aedion’s voice as he responded. “Even then. Terrasen is our home, but you’re my family.”

Aelin could feel the tears welling up in her eyes from the affirmation of her cousin’s loyalty and devotion. Rather than letting him see it as well, though, she tugged him into a firm embrace. “I’m going to the upper deck,” she declared, “before you decide you’re sick of me after all.”

He laughed. “It’s far too late for that. Are you sure you’re not going up there to see if you can spot a hawk following behind the ship?”

Aelin didn’t bother pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about. “He won’t be,” she said simply. “I ordered him not to.”

As she climbed the ladder and looked out onto the horizon, though, she couldn’t quite stop herself from looking eastward and imagining a pair of wings in the distance.

* * *

“We’ve spoken of this continent at great length,” Sellene said as she set a map aside. “But what of Erilea? Did we have ties with them? Will any of the nations _want_ diplomatic ties, other than Terrasen?”

“I imagine most of Erilea will want to hear from you, now that we’re establishing ties with Terrasen,” Rowan said wearily. “We largely ignored the entire continent before now, as Maeve never left Doranelle.”

“And now we know why.” Sellene frowned. “I should probably make it a point to arrange a diplomatic tour and re-establish some of those ties. We’ve been secluded for far too long as it is. Not to mention, I’m soon to have family in Erilea.”

And there it was. He had been wondering how long it would take her to bring up the obvious relationship between himself and Aelin. To be blunt, he was surprised she had made it a full week without that teasing glimmer in her eyes. “It would be even sooner, if you would consider my portion of this mess completed so that I could _leave_ ,” he remarked pointedly.

Sellene laughed, clearly delighting in his misery as she usually did. “And ruin Aelin’s moment? I couldn’t possibly be so rude. No, she told me exactly when to send you back, and I intend to listen to her.”

“And I’m assuming you _don’t_ intend to tell me a damned thing about it,” he grumbled.

Though she didn’t directly answer his question, Sellene’s grin told him everything he needed to know. “You’re about to be leaving us forever,” she said in a tone approaching serious. “I think that means I can keep you here for a little bit longer.”

“Does it bother you?” Not the question he had intended to ask, but he supposed he couldn’t take it back at this point.

“On a political level, or a personal one?”

“Either. Both.” Sellene wasn’t the closest of his cousins; that honor belonged to Enda, with whom he had been raised. However, the Whitethorns were a close enough family in general that it was possible and even likely that she had an opinion of some sort about it.

“No, and no,” she smiled. “Your mating and likely eventual marriage to the future queen of Terrasen is a political boon, not a drawback at all. Not to mention that I like her for you. She’s going to challenge you, and the gods know you need that.”

“She already has,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t keep a hint of a smile from his face in response. “Daily, in fact.”

“I knew I liked her.” Sellene shifted her attention back to the maps laid out in front of them. “She has family in Wendlyn as well, right? Her potential claim came from her Ashryver heritage, if I’m not mistaken.”

Rowan nodded. “She does, though relations between Wendlyn and Terrasen have been somewhat strained of late. Maeve’s disapproval of the marriage between Evalin Ashryver and Rhoe Galathynius left an impact that has been felt for decades.”

“I see,” she muttered. “So this transition is truly going to affect large parts of the world.”

“Larger than many know, and larger than most of those who know are willing to admit. It will likely take months or even years for the full impact to be revealed.”

Gods, he certainly hoped she didn’t intend to keep him here for months or years. It had been ten days since Aelin had left and ordered him to remain, and they had been some of the longest days of his life to date. The pull of their bond tugged at him with every waking moment, just enough that it was impossible to forget, and he frequently found himself looking to the northwest as though he could see her across the sea that separated them.

A slender hand tucked itself into the crook of his elbow, and he turned his head to see that Sellene was now standing beside him. “It won’t be forever,” she murmured. “It won’t even be very long. I know we can’t hope to keep you for any great length of time.”

It was true enough, certainly. Even the blood oath he had sworn felt like a mere suggestion against the pull of the mating bond, one he knew he could likely work around with even the most shallow of excuses. Still, he frowned at his cousin. “And yet here I am.”

“I have plans for you yet,” she replied. “We’re done for today, though. I need to meet with Lorcan and Vaughan, now that they’ve returned.”

Rowan nodded and turned to the window again, glancing once more in the direction of the sea. “Vaughan is likely to stay and serve you,” he said quietly. “It’s Lorcan you’ll need to convince.”

“I don’t intend to keep anyone who doesn’t wish to stay. Yourself included. I’ll meet with them all, but you’ll all have a choice.” When he turned to face her the amused glimmer was gone from her eyes and the corners of her mouth were drawn down in a thoughtful frown. “I will not rule as Maeve did.”

“You never did like me having sworn to her,” he recalled.

Sellene scowled. “She swept in when you were at your lowest moment and made a bargain you had little choice but to accept. Our family may have officially forgotten that, but I assure you that I have not.”

“It was my choice,” he protested, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears.

“We can discuss this later.” She dismissed the topic with a shake of her head. “I really do have a meeting to get to, and you’ve been staring at the skies for the past hour. Go fly.”

Rowan didn’t even wait for her to leave the room before shifting, darting out of the open window in a flurry of winds and wings. He may not be able to go to his mate just yet, but perhaps the flight would clear his head long enough to do what had to be done.

* * *

Aelin sighed as she stared at the double doors she knew led to the audience chamber. The lords of Terrasen had gathered as she had requested, and now that she’d had a day to try and rest it was time to face them.

As she stood, she smoothed trembling fingers over the green silk of the gown she had chosen for this meeting. It was a simple style, adorned with a belt and jewelry of silver to match Terrasen’s colors. Though as crown princess she was entitled to wear a circlet in official meetings, she had chosen to forego the headpiece. Instead, her hair was braided around her head in a style that mimicked the circlet she had decided to go without. She and Lysandra had carefully decided on every element of her appearance that morning, knowing she would need to present herself as someone who loved her country, but wasn’t preemptively assuming the role she was seeking.

She truly disliked this part of politics, she thought with a sigh. But her image mattered just as much as her deeds, for all she thought it shouldn’t, and she had a part to play.

With that in mind, she carefully assumed an easy smile before pushing the doors open and strolling into the room.

A long table had been set up in the chamber, with a seat for each of the prominent lords of Terrasen. She glanced at each one as she passed, as was expected and polite, though she didn’t truly see any of them. No, all of her focus was on the open throne at the end of the table. It would continue to go vacant, of course; Darrow was only a regent, not a king, and she was not yet queen. They each had their own chair on either side of the vacant throne, and Darrow was already seated in his.

With any luck, this would be the last day the throne would be empty. Aelin took a breath and thought a silent prayer to Mala Fire-bringer before sitting in her own chair. “I’m so pleased you were all able to meet with me on such short notice,” she began. “Much has happened since the last time we were all able to gather.”

“I should say so,” a voice sneered from across the table. “A foreign queen is dead, by _your_ hand. Your letter admitted as much.”

Another deep breath, and Aelin looked inside herself, searching for the drop of calming water at the center of her fiery power. “Lord Sloane,” she acknowledged, pleased with the lack of tremor in her voice. “I’m certain you have concerns, as there was only so much I could share in my letter. I hope to address those concerns today.”

“And we are pleased to hear your explanation.” This voice was warmer, and Aelin rewarded Lord Murtaugh Allsbrook with a thin smile.

“Thank you, Lord Allsbrook. My cousin and our general, Aedion, has gathered the evidence that we obtained over the course of the past several months, proving that the Fae Queen was not who she claimed to be.” With that, she set the book and various papers they had accumulated during their research on the table, to be passed around among the lords. “Before I acted, I presented this evidence in Adarlan and in Wendlyn. I also sent copies to the other ruling families in Erilea, though I did not have time to wait for all of them to reply. I did everything I could to both protect us all from the threat of the Valg and upset the balance of power as little as possible. That leads me to the reason I called you all here today.”

“Why call us here, if not to explain yourself?”

Another deep breath, another grasp at what calm laid within her. “Explaining my actions was always intended to be a part of this meeting, Lord Ironwood. I could hardly expect you to trust me blindly.”

A softer voice spoke up then. “You have my thanks, and you _should_ have the thanks of all present, for both saving our kingdom and taking the time to explain your actions.”

“It was the least I owed you, Lord Suria,” she replied.

The meeting went on, her own words barely registering in her ears. Ordinarily by this point she would’ve already singed some of the papers spread across the table, or at the very least shouted at someone as smoke began to fill the room. Rowan’s training had paid off, after all.

She quickly cut off that line of thinking. It wouldn’t do to tune completely out of the conversation in favor of missing Rowan, not when everything she had worked for was on the line.

Finally, she reached the moment she had been building toward. “So, we’ve agreed that my magic is much better controlled than it has been in years. That leaves the question of a spouse.”

“Yes,” Regent Darrow interjected. “We heard that you won’t be marrying Prince Dorian after all. Have you made another selection?”

Aelin took a deep breath. “It is my request to you and to all of the lords present that I be allowed to assume my throne without a husband. I believe that I have proven myself and my love of this country, and I have made every effort to comply with your requests. Many of our previous rulers, and many of our current and previous lords, have gone on to successful careers unmarried and found their spouses in good time. This is not a declaration that I will never marry, simply a request that my current marital status be removed from your consideration of my right to rule.”

Silence followed her statement, but Aelin kept her nerves from her expression as best she could. She had said her piece and presented the evidence, and now her fate rested in the hands of the lords.

She knew that Lords Ironwood, Sloane, and Gunnar would be the least likely to accept. Lord Allsbrook was likely firmly on her side, and Lord Suria had proven reasonable in the past. Regent Darrow was technically one of the lords as well, and she couldn’t be certain whether or not he would approve of this maneuver. Either he would be impressed by her machinations or he would resent her for going around him.

That left Lord Lochan, who had remained silent throughout the deliberations. She wasn’t certain of his decision, either. She could only pray.

An unexpectedly high-pitched voice interrupted her thoughts. “I don’t see why we should impede Aelin any further. We will still be around as counsel, and I believe I serve as proof that a woman can rule without a husband.”

Aelin turned to the speaker and shock overtook her.

* * *

Aedion paced in the hallway outside the audience chamber, hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly as he walked. There was nothing further he could do. While he was a successful military leader and his word might have held sway on a matter regarding the troops alone, he had no title or lands in Terrasen and he could not have any decision on the matter of Aelin’s right to rule.

He wondered if Aelin felt equally powerless, with her fate in the hands of the lords and only her words to guide them.

No, surely Aelin was actively plying every charm she had available to her. She wasn’t locked out of the room while they deliberated, as he was. While the final decision would not be her own, she still had some degree of power.

A noise broke the silence behind him and he whirled around, sword half drawn before he recognized the person who stood before him. “Nervous?” Lysandra chuckled.

“Are you not?” Aedion sighed as he did his best to relax. “I don’t think I’ve felt so powerless in years. The last time was after the first time you told me off for… how did you put it, exactly, ‘territorial male bullshit’?”

“Aelin helped with the phrasing,” Lysandra admitted.

He snorted. “That much was obvious. It’s a fight we’ve had for years now.”

She leaned against his side, humming softly. “She’ll be fine, you know. Evangeline’s been working on Darrow from the moment we arrived, and you know his vote holds the most sway.”

“Has she, now?” He tugged playfully on one of her chestnut curls. “I can’t imagine who she learned that from.”

“Well, it most certainly wasn’t you. To be blunt, I’m amazed you haven’t drawn that sword and rushed into the room already.”

So was he, but she didn’t need to know that. Instead, he turned to properly embrace her. “And to think I was about to tell you how much I missed you,” he teased.

“Here in this hallway? Where anyone could find us? How scandalous.”

As Lysandra laughed, Aedion felt his ears grow warm. “As much as I’m certain at least one courtier would enjoy the show, I’d rather save that part of it for later.”

“Well, that’s a good thing. I couldn’t stop someone else from coming down to see you as well, since you arrived after her bedtime.”

Aedion turned just in time to see Evangeline flying down the hall, golden locks streaming behind her as she approached him at a full sprint. He bent his knees just enough that he wouldn’t be knocked over by the impact and caught her gently around the waist, something in his chest tightening at the way she wrapped her arms around him. “I missed you too, Evangeline,” he assured her. “But Lysandra tells me you’ve been keeping busy while I was away.”

She nodded and smiled. “I’ve been helping Regent Darrow. I deliver messages. Sometimes I write them too, but I’m not good at that yet.”

“I’m sure you’ve been very helpful,” he replied. “And I’m glad to see you’ve been doing well.”

“You’re back to stay now?” Citrine eyes dark with suspicion glanced up at him. “You’re not leaving again?”

He sighed. “I can’t promise I’ll never have to leave,” he cautioned her. “But I’ll always do my best to come back home as quickly as possible. And I don’t have to leave anytime soon.”

She nodded, hugging him once more before taking up a position behind Lysandra. Lysandra let a hand rest on the girl’s shoulder and glanced up at him. “So now we wait?”

Aedion nodded, one hand lifting to card through his own hair. “Now we wait. There’s nothing else we can do.”

He supposed it was a good sign that the audience chamber was so silent. If no one had raised their voice, it was likely that Aelin hadn’t set anything on fire either, and that was possibly the worst thing she could do at this point. Rowan had trained her well, certainly, but not even _years_ of intensive training would manage to wipe away the bulk of Aelin’s temper and the male had only had a few short months to attempt the task.

On the other hand, it was entirely possible that the room was silent because Aelin had decided she preferred knives to fire. Aedion shivered as he considered the possibility.

Before he could ponder too much further, however, the doors opened and he immediately straightened, hand returning to the hilt of his sword. His cousin emerged from the room, shoulders drawn in close and looking down at the floor. She was obviously exhausted, but neither her posture nor the soft conversation still ongoing in the room behind her provided him with any indication as to how the meeting had gone.

He rushed to meet her as she allowed the doors to swing shut behind her and took a deep breath. “How did it go?”

“I was unaware that Lord Lochan had died while we were in Doranelle,” she replied. “I know you probably didn’t know either, but it would’ve been nice to avoid looking like an idiot in front of the lords.”

Aedion grimaced. “Did it truly go that poorly? What did they say?”

Aelin finally looked up at him, eyes gleaming. “His daughter inherited his position, and did a great deal to argue our case.”

“Little _Elide_ is Lord of Perranth now?” he spluttered.

“Lady, technically, and she’ll pretend not to hear you if you address her otherwise in a formal capacity.” His cousin grinned. “I might need to adopt that tactic myself.”

He wasn’t quite certain how he managed to avoid his knees buckling in relief. “Then it is done?”

“I’m afraid not,” she replied. “You’re about to have a great deal of planning thrust upon you.”

Aedion frowned. “Planning? Whatever for?” Gods, if the lords had renewed their case for a marriage between himself and his cousin… well, he would do it if she asked it of him, but she might also kill him so it would remain an impossibility.

Aelin laughed. “So serious. For my coronation, of course.”

“Your coronation?” Lysandra asked from somewhere behind him, and he was grateful she had done so for he found himself suddenly unable to speak.

“Yes. You’re looking at the next Queen of Terrasen, and the lords have officially approved of my ascent to the throne.”

Aedion hugged his cousin tightly, not missing the triumphant gleam in her eyes. Now that this moment was finally here, he wasn’t sure why he had ever doubted her ability to sway them. After all, it only took one glance at her now to see the queen that she was.

Perhaps the lords had finally seen it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for bearing with me! I know I was gone for nearly a month, but as I mentioned over on tumblr I've been dealing with some family health crises that are now resolved. 
> 
> There will be one more chapter of this and then an epilogue! We're almost to the end now.


	21. Chapter Twenty

Two months passed, and soon Aelin stood before her closet once more, carefully selecting a gown. Today she would be crowned Queen of Terrasen, and though she had worked for it for so long she found she was still nervous.

Lysandra looked up from where she was carefully arranging a bouquet of evergreen boughs and delicate laurel blossoms, representing both the beauty and the longevity of her kingdom. “This is it,” she said quietly. “In a few short hours, you’ll be queen.”

Aelin nodded, fingertips trailing over the gauzy green material covering the gown they had commissioned for the occasion. “I can hardly believe it,” she confessed. “I keep thinking that I’ll wake up and find this was all some sort of fever-dream.”

Lysandra only smiled, smoothing the skirts of her own gown of green velvet. “I suspect Aedion would be only too happy to spar, if you needed a reminder that this is all real.”

That was true enough; if she knew her cousin, he was already pacing outside the throne room, one hand on his sword and the other fisted at his side so as not to muss his tied-back hair. “As much as we’d both enjoy the opportunity to beat each other, I’m afraid we don’t have that much time.”

Carefully, she slipped into the gown, forest green silks and gauzes sliding over her frame. It was truly a lovely dress, fabric in Terrasen green carefully embroidered in silver along the hem and the collar. Beside her on the dressing room table, a silver belt lay ready to be clasped around her waist. The only other adornment she would wear today was the crown of silver and gold antlers that Regent Darrow would present during the ceremony itself. Even her hair would remain unbound for this particular occasion. Lysandra approached her then, carefully fastening the ties at her back that held the gown together. When she spoke, her tone was reassuring. “You don’t need it. You’ve been preparing for this moment for years. Everyone can see that.”

It was still truly amazing that she had gotten this far. For the longest time after her meeting with the Lords of Terrasen, she had contemplated displaying the writ they had all signed granting her the right to her crown. It was still tempting, but she had finally decided the display might be off-putting to enough people so as not to be worth the glee it would bring her. She thought that Rowan would be proud of her for exercising such restraint.

At that thought, she sighed and left the closet, feet taking her to the balcony outside her bedroom. A bird of prey was circling the skies by the forest, but she knew without reaching for the mating bond that it would not be Rowan. She had asked Sellene to keep him in Doranelle until after she was crowned, and the Fae Queen of the East had agreed readily, knowing she would be leaning heavily on her cousin’s advice as she transitioned into power.

She had made the decision knowing it was important that she gain her crown on her own merits. However, she hadn’t given sufficient consideration to just how much she would miss her mate being by her side.

“He should be here soon enough.” The rustling of skirts indicated that Lysandra had come to join her. “Aedion says the reports out of Doranelle indicated he was on the move. If I were to guess, I would say he’d be here within the week.”

Gods, but she hoped so. “I can only imagine how it felt for you to come back here while I took Aedion across the sea,” she admitted. “If it was anything like this…”

“It had to be done. You needed your message to reach Terrasen, and I couldn’t bring Evangeline into that situation.” When Aelin turned to face her friend, she found only certainty in her expression. “Given the same circumstances, I would do it again.”

Aelin sighed. “Well, we’re back now, at least. And we’ve made it to today. Truly, we have a lot to celebrate.”

“And we will,” Lysandra grinned as she collected the silver belt to wrap around Aelin’s waist. “The delegation from Adarlan includes your erstwhile former betrothed, after all; I’m certain he’ll make sure our celebrations are held to a certain standard.”

“Oh, I’m certain as well,” Aelin replied with a laugh. “But enough of that. We still have to get through the ceremony first.”

And together they finished preparing for the day, Aelin taking the rare opportunity to braid her friend’s hair with a smile. “I almost never get to do this. Usually it’s you taking control of _my_ hair.”

Lysandra smiled. “If you wake up early enough, you can do this more often.”

Aelin responded by making a face at her through the mirror. “My first order as queen will be that no official business can take place until lunch,” she swore. “And you’ll have to obey it too.”

“Aedion would never allow it, I hope you realize that. I think he would rather perish than give up his morning training sessions.”

“Aedion can do as he likes, as long as he doesn’t expect me to join him,” she said haughtily.

Before either of them could say anything further, a bell rang in the courtyard to mark the passing of another hour. “It’s time,” Lysandra said as she gathered the evergreen bouquets they would both carry. “Are you ready?”

Aelin’s hands shook as she accepted her own bouquet from Lysandra. She took a deep breath as she focused on a single thought.

_I am Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I will not be afraid._

Finally, she smiled. “I’m ready,” she declared. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Aedion stood to the left side of the throne in front of the crowds that were waiting to watch his cousin be crowned Queen of Terrasen, sword buckled around his waist and wearing Terrasen’s colors of green and silver. As commander of the Bane and the highest ranking military officer within Orynth, he would be standing by Aelin’s side as she accepted her crown from Regent Darrow. The regent himself was already present, as were the other lords and the newest Lady of Perranth. Lysandra and Evangeline would be escorting Aelin into the throne room within a few short minutes. Everything was ready, and he only had a few moments more to wait.

A group of musicians began to play behind him and he straightened his sword belt, focusing his attention on the doors at the opposite side of the throne room. The Song of Terrasen was played at every major function of their kingdom, and now it was the signal that Aelin was about to enter the room.

The crowd before him turned their attention to the doors as well, and he knew the officials gathered behind him would be standing now. Finally, the doors opened and Aedion’s breath caught in his chest as the three most important women in his life appeared.

Evangeline came first, grinning widely as she scattered evergreen leaves along the aisle and prepared the way for their new queen. Finally she came to stand by Aedion’s side, and he tore his attention away from the proceedings for a moment to smile down at her.

Aelin came next, with Lysandra close behind, sweeping down the aisle with all the grace that befitted her role as their ruler. Carefully, she climbed the three steps that led up to the throne and then knelt as Regent Darrow approached, the crown of antlers in his hands.

His vision had blurred by this point, and he knew that by the end he would be openly weeping. Aelin didn’t look like she was faring any better, but she still winked at him before returning her attention to the regent.

Darrow’s expression was solemn as he began to speak the ritual words in the Old Language, but he thought he could see a glimmer in the older man’s eyes as well. Aedion didn’t understand the Old Language very well, not truly, but the meaning of this exchange was one known to everyone of note in Terrasen. “Do you offer your life, your body, and your soul to the service of Terrasen?”

The gold in Aelin’s eyes blazed as she replied in kind. “I offer all that I am and all that I have to Terrasen.”

The ceremony went on exactly as rehearsed, the remaining words of Aelin’s vows a blur to him. As he watched, Darrow lifted the crown to catch the light, an homage to the goddess most honored by all in the Galathynius line, and rested it atop his cousin’s golden waves. His tears finally fell as Darrow spoke the last words of the ceremony. “Rise, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen. Long may you reign.”

There was movement along the outskirts of the crowd, but Aedion could hardly pay attention to such a thing when Aelin turned to look at him rather than sitting in her throne as they had practiced. “Aedion Ashryver, Prince of Wendlyn and General of Terrasen,” she called.

He froze. Could she possibly be…?

She rolled up her sleeve, and the tears began to fall all over again. “From the moment you came to our shores, you have devoted your strength, your sword, and your life to Terrasen. Will you swear to continue to do so for the rest of your days?”

He fell to his knees before her, shoulders and voice both trembling. “I swear it. In this life and the next, I will serve you and Terrasen.”

Aelin pulled out a knife—where in the gods’ names had she been keeping a knife?—and drew it along her arm, smiling as blood welled along the cut. “Then drink, Prince Aedion, and be welcome.”

He bowed his head and drank, and she smiled and whispered, “In front of everyone, just like you wanted.”

He couldn’t help a laugh in reply. “Only you would interrupt your own coronation just to make sure you could surprise someone.”

She winked and turned back to Lord Darrow. “Now, where were we?”

“Take your throne,” he replied with a gesture toward the seat of power.

Aelin straightened once more, letting her sleeve fall to cover the cut that was already beginning to heal, and faced the antler throne. Two steps closed the distance between herself and the throne, and her fingertips trailed over the arm. Her eyes fluttered shut as if in thought, and then the crowd gasped as she loosed a small fraction of the power that rested within her.

Fire swirled above her before taking a distinct form, and Aedion couldn’t stop a sharp intake of breath as he saw it. Aelin simply turned and sat, seemingly ignoring the kingsflame blossom she had called into existence above her head.

The crowd roared its approval, but Aedion kept his eyes on his queen, wondering when she would notice the delegation that had arrived immediately after the crown was placed on her head. As he watched, her eyes scanned the crowd and she smiled at her subjects.

From his position, still knelt by her side, he was in the best location to watch her eyes widen as they finally reached the back of the crowds and she saw her mate.

* * *

Aelin wanted nothing more in that moment than to run all the way down the aisle and throw herself at Rowan. From the look in his eye, she knew he was thinking the exact same thing. Unfortunately for both of them, though, she knew they would not have the opportunity to be alone just yet, and she needed to do this for herself.

Not to mention the fact that the various friends who were gathered to watch her in this moment probably deserved to actually be _told_ about her mate.

And so she remained seated in her throne, Regent—no, _Lord_ Darrow’s announcements about the ongoing festivities barely registering in her ears as she stared into pine-green eyes waiting for her across the room.

Of course, her friends completely ignored the suggestion that they move into the courtyards in favor of swarming the throne as the rest of the crowd filed out. At any other moment she would have been delighted to be surrounded by these people who had supported her along the way, but right now she had to feign joy and suppress her irritation.

As Nehemia and Elide fought over the right to be the first to hug her, she glanced at Rowan again. He simply winked, the frustrating bastard, and slipped behind one of the columns supporting the high ceilings of the throne room.

Evidently Dorian had grown tired of waiting on the girls to decide, as he swept her into his arms instead and spun her around. “Looks like you managed spectacularly without me,” he grinned.

“Of course I did,” she retorted. “I was only ever using you for your looks and your books.”

He heaved a dramatic sigh. “I suppose that’s fair.”

Rather than respond, she snuck a glance at the pillar that was hiding her mate from view. What was Rowan doing back so quickly? Had Sellene truly released him earlier than Aelin had requested? Had he found some way to circumvent the trappings of the oath he had sworn to her? What was going on?

She finally glanced back at Dorian to find sapphire eyes glimmering with mirth. “I truly doubt that pillar is as interesting as you think it is, but I _can_ at least tell when I’m not wanted.”

Aelin made a face and shoved at his shoulder, but she couldn’t suppress her smile for long. “Then you’re smarter than most.”

With a wink, Dorian turned his charms to ushering everyone else out of the room as well. In a few blessedly short minutes, silence fell upon the throne room.

Once the others had finally, _finally_ left, Rowan crossed the room in quick strides, sweeping her into his arms as she finally allowed herself to laugh and cry as she’d wanted to do from the moment she first saw him standing in the back of the room. “What are you doing here?” she asked between watery laughs. “I thought…” She didn’t know how to finish that sentence. _I thought you would be in Doranelle for at least another month. I thought I would be terribly, completely alone today. I thought I would continue missing you with my every breath for far longer._

Thankfully, Rowan seemed to understand what she couldn’t quite say. He always had, she recalled, even when they would have professed to hate each other. Rather than making her speak, he simply held her closer, cradling her against him as he buried his face in the loose waves of her hair and they took a moment to finally breathe in each other’s scent for the first time in far too long. As the comfort of the pine and snow she had always called home surrounded her, she finally relaxed for the first time since their last embrace.

Finally he began to speak. “Sellene decided that the Fae Queen of the East should be present in person for the coronation of the Faerie Queen of the West, as a gesture of good will. Most of Maeve’s former blood-sworn came with her, myself included. Vaughan stayed behind to manage her affairs, as did Connall.”

“I should probably welcome her,” Aelin mumbled into his shoulder.

“Eventually, yes.”

Rowan continued to explain himself with words she felt more than heard, crushed against his chest as she was, but even being this close wasn’t enough. And so instead she did what she had been longing to do from the moment she saw him at the edge of the crowd and pressed her lips against his.

Of all the kisses they had shared, both shy and heated, this one was perhaps her favorite despite its artlessness. After all, her love, her other half, her _mate_ was finally home to stay. And from the way he clutched her to himself, from the way he kissed her again and again until she was dizzy from either his presence or the lack of air, it seemed he intended to stay for as long as she would allow it.

Luckily for him, she fully intended to keep him forever.

This particular moment couldn’t last forever, though, and finally he pulled away just enough for their eyes to meet again. “We probably shouldn’t keep your subjects waiting.”

“You mean you _weren’t_ going to let me have you on my new throne?” she teased, grinning at the flush that graced his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“Gods help me,” he muttered. “I’ve not even been home an hour, and you’re already trying to kill me.”

She pretended to consider their situation before letting out a dramatic sigh. “I suppose you’re right. We don’t have enough time for everything I want to do to you, anyway.”

“ _Aelin_ ,” he hissed.

“Tonight, I promise,” she grinned. “Calm down, it’s only teasing if I don’t follow through. Now, are you going to come with me and meet our people or not?”

He grumbled wordlessly for a few more moments before finally offering his arm, which she took with a smile. “Remind me to ask my cousin to avenge my death,” he muttered.

“That would involve telling your cousin exactly what I plan to do to you. In detail.” She watched as he spluttered, clearly indignant.

“That would involve no such thing.” Rowan took a deep breath, clearly intent on calming himself before they made their first public appearance together.

“ _You_ wouldn’t tell her, perhaps,” she allowed. “However, I would feel the need to defend myself against such obvious slander as you accusing me of attempted murder.”

Rowan clearly decided that it was best to end the conversation before he lost any further ground, for he quickly steered her out of the throne room and into the courtyard where their court and their people awaited.

Aelin smiled. She supposed she could allow his surrender for now. After all, they would have so much longer for her to torment him.

* * *

The afternoon passed into evening, and soon they were back indoors with the court for a meal and for dancing. Rowan stayed close to Aelin’s side, the blood oath and mating bond both crying out for closeness after spending so long apart. Thankfully, Aelin appeared to have no complaints about his nearness, for she seemed to be touching him almost constantly. A slim hand brushing against his arm, a nudge of her hip against him… it was enough to drive any male insane, though privately Rowan could admit that he was enjoying every moment of it.

Granted, he would enjoy it even more if there were any hope of them being able to find a way to sneak off together for a _proper_ reunion, but he would take what he could get.

The musicians began a waltz, and Rowan saw an opportunity to surprise his queen rather than the other way around for a change. Grinning, he offered his arm to her. “Shall we?”

Aelin stared at him suspiciously. _Shall we what, exactly?_ she seemed to ask.

Rowan simply glanced at the dance floor and then back at her.

Her eyes narrowed. “You can dance?”

“I _was_ trained for the court in Doranelle. I may prefer a different sort of dancing, but I am hardly incapable.”

It had been the wrong thing to say; immediately Aelin turned a searing gaze to him and looked him up and down, slowly and thoroughly enough that a lesser male would have hidden away from her scrutiny. Rowan himself was sorely tempted to drag her away from the dance, guests and court be damned. And yet he did not waver, and he even managed to smirk at her as he continued to offer his arm.

Finally she accepted, her hand sliding against the sleeve of his jacket as she allowed him to lead her onto the floor.

What had felt stiff and uncomfortable as a younger male learning how to behave at court felt like second nature when it was Aelin in his arms, and they quickly adopted a comfortable embrace before beginning to move and twirl across the dance floor. “I don’t believe I properly congratulated you on your coronation,” he said quietly.

“You haven’t. And I wouldn’t encourage you to do so until we’re truly alone.” Aelin’s eyes glimmered with a wicked humor, and Rowan resisted the urge to groan in reply.

“You’re incorrigible,” he finally managed.

“I know.”

Rather than carry the conversation further, he carefully spun her out and then back into himself. Aelin followed easily with a bright smile, skirts flaring out around her before she stepped back into his arms, just a little too close to be strictly polite.

As they neared the rest of the delegation from Doranelle, Rowan nodded at them politely. Before long, though, he could feel himself frowning as he watched Lorcan.

Aelin stepped on his foot to get his attention, and he grimaced. “What could you possibly be grumpy about today of all days?” she demanded.

“I’m not grumpy, I… listen, I’m going to spin us around, and I want you to tell me who exactly has captured Lorcan’s attention.”

He did exactly that, and Aelin peered over his shoulder before her eyes widened and she began to laugh. “Oh, she’s going to eat him alive.”

“That doesn’t answer who she is,” he pointed out.

“That’s Elide Lochan, Lady of Perranth and part of the Lords of Terrasen. I really should look at changing that, now that a woman has inherited,” she mused. “Regardless, one of her first acts as Lady of Perranth was to vocally support my ascent to the throne, and you should have heard what she said to the other lords.”

Rowan lifted a single eyebrow. “So you’re telling me Lorcan Salvaterre, most powerful demi-Fae in existence, who _hates_ you, might I add, has fallen for a member of your _court_.”

She laughed again. “Gods, we need to stop them now, before they can get married. Anyone marrying into one of Terrasen’s noble families inherits the noble name regardless of gender, and I don’t think I could look Lord Lorcan Lochan in the eye with a straight face.”

Rowan bit back a smile of his own before replying. “I know I’m the one who brought him up, but I’d really prefer we _not_ talk about Lorcan any further.”

“Would you rather talk about what precisely you intend to do with me later tonight?”

Rowan glared at her. _You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?_

“What?” she asked, tone entirely too innocent. “I could talk about _my_ plans for _you,_ if you’d prefer.”

“If you do that, you’ll be ending your own party _incredibly_ early,” he warned.

She laughed and rested her head against his shoulder, and their waltz slowed into a gentle swaying back and forth. He allowed his hands to settle at her waist, reveling in the knowledge that he was allowed to hold her like this. Moreover, he would have her entire life to do exactly this.

Tomorrow, they would begin sorting out exactly what place he would have by her side. Tomorrow, he would have time to begin wondering whether she would Settle in the next few years. Tomorrow, they would begin shaping their court and sorting out their ties with their friends in other nations. But none of those problems could be sorted out tonight.

Instead, tonight he would hold his queen close as they celebrated all of their victories, large and small. Tonight they would enjoy the company of their friends both near and far.

Later tonight, when they were alone, he would make love to his queen for as long as both she and their duties would allow.

They had the rest of their lives ahead of them, after all. They could enjoy this one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed from the updated chapter count, only the epilogue is left. That should be arriving within the next few days.
> 
> Thank you all so very much for going with me on this journey! I love you all so much, and I truly appreciate every one of you.


	22. Epilogue: One Year Later

In a narrow hallway just outside of the throne room, a blood-sworn Prince straightened his jacket. The next few moments would be among the most important in his life, and although he was as prepared as he reasonably could be he couldn’t quite control his nerves.

As he waited, he recalled how his Queen’s orders had led to this moment. He had believed he would find freedom, but he couldn’t have possibly imagined the extent of the freedom he now enjoyed, nor the benefits that he had found alongside his freedom.

A throat cleared before him, and the Prince returned his attention to his surroundings to find his warrior brother awaiting him. “Everyone else is ready,” he reported. “Are you?”

The Prince pondered his answer for a few moments. They had been preparing for this day for months now, though a part of him still hesitated, fully believing he didn’t quite deserve the honor his Queen was to bestow upon him.

Even as he thought the words, he could hear his Queen’s indignant response in his mind. _Whether or not you are deserving in this matter is for me to decide,_ she would tell him, _and you proved your worth to me long ago._

Though he could protest, and he might have protested had she actually been present in that moment, he knew the winner of that argument would not be himself. They had already had this conversation several times in the months leading up to this day, after all.

Finally, the Prince nodded to his brother. “I am.”

His brother smiled and turned away, slipping into another room through a side door and leaving the Prince alone with his thoughts once more. He would not be alone for much longer, though, for he knew his brother would be alerting the others even now.

The music in the throne room swelled, and he recognized it as the cue for him to enter. With a deep breath, he opened the door, his awareness of everyone else gathered within the chamber fading as he beheld his Queen on her throne in all her majesty.

She was radiant before him, bright as the fires she commanded, resplendent in a gown of rich green and bright silver. The Prince’s breath caught in his throat at the sight, and the bond between them tugged at his chest.

He couldn’t wait any longer, and so he strode across the room to kneel at her feet, head bowed. Her skirts rustled before him, and as she rose from her throne he raised his head to look at her.

She spoke words in the Old Language, words that reaffirmed the bond that lay between them and would bind him anew to her and the land both. A year previously, he wouldn’t have believed that he would accept additional bonds so readily.

Now, it was all he could possibly want.

And so the Prince responded in kind, hiding a shiver as the weight of the bonds settled around his head and shoulders. His Queen smiled at him and offered a hand to steady him as he rose once more, one he gratefully accepted.

“It’s difficult to believe this is real, isn’t it?” she whispered. “After all this time, after everything we’ve been through… I can still hardly believe it myself.”

“I feel the same way,” the Prince confessed. “And yet here we are.”

The brilliance of his Queen’s smile was enough to melt even his frozen heart. She had done that long ago, of course, yet he still felt an echo of that warmth within his chest at the sight. “There’s only one thing left for you to do.”

His Queen was correct, of course, and yet the Prince hesitated for a moment longer, eyes studying her face.

Her smile turned soft. “Och, you. You’ll have our entire lives to look at me, and I fully expect you to do so regularly, but you have something _ever_ so slightly more important to do now.”

It was the Prince’s turn to smile at his Queen. “Those are words I never thought I’d hear you say.”

“And you’ll never hear them again,” she declared. “Now, go.”

The Prince kissed his Queen’s cheek and led her back to her throne, keeping hold of her hand as she sat. Then he turned to the secondary, smaller throne beside her. Two steps led him directly to it, and he could and did approach without releasing his Queen’s hand.

Slowly, he turned to face the crowds gathered within the chamber and seated himself upon the throne.

And just like that, the Prince became a King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thusly this story ends.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me through this journey, and a warm welcome to those of you who can't stand reading incomplete works and so are coming into this new!
> 
> ...I'm already thinking of further works in this universe. Check out my tumblr (imaginedhaven.tumblr.com) to stay tuned!


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